


Method

by FruitofSorrow



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A thing I wrote for fun, Actor AU, Actor Bucky Barnes, Actor Steve Rogers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fluff, I'm actually writing a Lawyer AU that kind of parallels this piece, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-01-06 17:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18393434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FruitofSorrow/pseuds/FruitofSorrow
Summary: Steve, an egotistical actor, was recently dumped by his ex who, as it so happens, was seen with a new guy only a week later. Steve is bitter and angry at the tabloids for sticking their noses in his business, and to make matters worse, his ex’s new beau has been confirmed to play lead alongside him in his new movie. Can Steve put aside his feelings and get the job done?





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

Steve stared at the tabloid, hands gripping the glossy paper. Any harder and he’d tear the magazine in half.

  
“Have you seen this?” he said, waving the crumpled paper in the air.

  
His agent, Sam, who was lounging on the leather armchair on the other side of the living room with his legs kicked over the arm rest, turned to look at him. When he saw the magazine Steve was holding, he rolled his eyes.

  
“I doubt there’s a single person in Hollywood who hasn’t,” Sam said, tossing an unpeeled orange into the air and catching it with both hands.

  
“I need to get to the bottom of this,” Steve muttered, throwing the magazine on the coffee table in front of him. He picked up his phone and tried to speed dial his contact but quickly remembered that he’d removed it after the break-up. He cursed when he realized he’d have to manually put in the number. It was, as a matter of fact, the first number he’d ever bothered to learn. As a successful actor, he had people to do menial tasks like this for him all the time, much to Natasha’s dismay, who felt he should grow up and act like a responsible adult. She wasn’t the only one who thought so. When he was still with his ex, Peggy, she’d repeatedly berated him for not doing his due diligence as a public figure with name and monetary value. What if he lost his phone or was mugged on the street?

  
“What are you doing?” Sam said, planting his feet flat the floor. “You’re not calling her, are you?”

  
He looked just about ready to snatch the phone out of Steve’s hands when the blond actor shushed him and pressed the phone to his ear. The line rang a few times and he waited, tapping his toes impatiently on the carpeted floor before he was directed to voicemail. _What the_ …

  
“She sent me to her inbox,” he said, dull. He couldn’t exactly be surprised now, could he?

  
Sam scoffed. “What did you expect, man? _She_ dumped _you_.”

  
“I just…” Steve said, running a hand through his coiffed hair. “I can’t believe she moved on that fast, and with…with that _nobody_. Some third-rate actor.”

  
“Who are we talking about?”

  
Steve shot lasers at Sam.

  
“Some James fucking Barnes, that’s who!”

  
Steve almost launched into an extensive tirade about fame and hierarchy, when he saw Sam turn away suspiciously and rub at his neck, flushed.

  
Steve’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

  
Sam coughed to clear his throat. “Well, remember that movie I booked you for? The one about the two rival lawyers?”

  
“Yeah,” Steve said, failing to see how it was relevant.

  
“Well, you see, they might have changed the plot a little since the first time you read the script.”

  
Steve’s stomach dropped. “How?”

  
Sam took a tentative step backward.

  
“Well, the studio decided that it would be a much more novel take to have your rival, and eventual love interest, be played by a man.”

  
“W-what?”

  
A _male_ love interest? Why didn’t they ask him for his approval? Ok, his reputation wasn’t what it once was, but he still had sway in the industry, if not for his fame, then for his parentage. The Rogerses were a political family. Though his family had pretty much disowned him for not going to law school, as far as anyone knew, they had his back.

  
“Who did they get?” He swallowed.

  
Sam shrunk in on himself. “I got the memo only this morning. I’m sorry, man. I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid you’d back out,” he rambled. “You need this movie. Your ratings haven’t been up to par since…”

  
Since his controversy. _Yeah, yeah_.

  
“ _Who_ did they get?” he repeated.

  
A battle was raging in Sam’s eyes, he could see it, and with how strange the other man was acting, Steve had a gut feeling he had his answer. He just wanted to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.

  
“James Barnes,” Sam said, taking another step back.

  
_There it is_ , he thought. He could practically hear the bomb drop.

  
What had he done to deserve so much cosmic scorn?

  
Steve crossed his arms indignantly. “I don’t work with newbies.”

  
“Wait, you don’t seriously think I haven’t already done my homework, do you?” Sam said, miffed. “James Barnes is an Emmy winner, and his last film was nominated for an _Oscar_. Granted, he only played support, but he’s up-and-coming. They say this film could be his breakout role.”

  
“What are you on about?”

  
“I’m saying,” Sam continued, “that there will be a lot of press surrounding this movie, and given that you’re in hot water for that remark you made this Summer, it would be in your best interest to seize the opportunity. There aren’t many directors left willing to give a social pariah like you a second chance.”

  
Steve sank back into the sofa; he felt like he was being swallowed. There’d been no need for Sam to put it like that.

  
“You know more than anyone that I didn’t mean a thing I said,” Steve grumbled. “You don’t have to keep bringing it up as if I have something to make up for. I don’t.”

  
Sam’s eyes softened. “That may be true, but the press and the public haven’t forgotten, and this—all of this— will keep following you unless you do something to change their perceptions of you.”

  
Steve knew Sam was right.

  
That’s why he’d taken the role in the first place; he wanted to remind everyone that he was still the talented and hardworking guy that debuted twelve years ago–– that he was a credit to the profession. But it didn’t matter how hard he tried, it seemed nobody cared about him anymore, not even to destroy his career. He was a joke. The most media coverage he got nowadays consisted of TMZ ambushes and unflattering pap shots. Just last week, a gossip magazine published an image of him with the caption “ _Steven Rogers steps out for the first time in months, gaunt and emaciated after his breakup with fashion icon, Peggy Carter._ ”

  
They’d heavily narrowed his shoulders and sallowed out his face with photoshop to make him look smaller and frailer than he really was.

  
“The studio is going to reveal the new casting tomorrow morning,” Sam said. “Nat and I have already anticipated the headlines, and we’re working with PR to cushion the blow, but you need to do your part, too. Stay poised, man. The vultures are circling overhead, and they’re hungry.”

  
Steve nodded, seeing the logic in Sam’s words.

  
He was a proud man, some would argue it was to a fault, and if he didn’t watch himself—didn’t take extra care to be polite to those bastards— the next headline would be calling him an arrogant bigot with a diva complex to top it off.

  
At times like these, he wished he could talk to Peggy. She had a way of saying the right things to not only put him in his place, but to make him feel better and more secure about himself. Only Peggy, with the very dubious inclusion of Sam and Nat, knew what he was really like. His own family members had distanced themselves from him, claiming that his scandal had tarnished the Rogerses name. Who cared about blood and kin when public ratings were a matter of interest. In that way, politics and showbiz weren’t so different.

  
“Get a good night’s rest,” Sam said. “I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

  
Steve waved Sam off, and when he was alone, he stripped down to his boxers and headed off to bed.

  
If the paps were going to come at him like the ravenous hyenas they were, then he wasn’t going to sit back and give them any satisfaction. He was going to look refreshed and radiant tomorrow, no matter what. He was going to be prepared.

***

Steve awoke to the incessant buzzing of his phone. He grumbled and rolled over to shut it off, but when he saw the slew of messages that had been left that morning, he rubbed the sand out of his eyes and unlocked the device. Most of the messages were from Nat, who was reminding him to stay indoors, and from Sam, who was letting him know he was on his way. The rest were from family members who, instead of asking how he was holding up, had decided to express their outrage at what Steve could only guess was the news that had surely dropped that morning. He deleted them without a second glance.

  
One message caught his eye, however. It was an alert he had set up to inform him of any popular articles mentioning his name. He immediately sat up and clicked on the link.

  
" _James Barnes Confirmed To Be Playing Opposite Controversial Actor, Steve Rogers, In ‘Gay’ Legal Film._ ”  
His hands shook as he scrolled down the comments.

 _-How could James accept this role? Doesn’t he know Steve Rogers is problematic?_  
_-Welp. Looks like another actor has been #cancelled._  
_-James, I TRUSTED YOU :(_  
_-If it wasn’t bad enough that Steve Rogers has been outed as a raging homophobe, now he’s playing an LGBTQ character in what was SUPPOSED to be one of the most anticipated films of next year. Who thought this was a good idea?_  
_-This is y I can’t trust white ppl. RIP his career._  
_-Am I the only one who’s excited? James and Steve would look great together.”_  
_–– > reply: fuck off_  
_–– > _reply: _Gurl. this isn’t it_  
_— > reply: Get help._  
_-Who knows, guys. Maybe Rogers has realized the error of his ways. If not, yikes._  
_-Does Steve Rogers have no conscience?”_  
_-How. Hard. Is. It. To. Hire. Gay. People. For. Gay. Roles._  
_-Isn’t this queer-baiting?_  
_-I bet only horny teenage girls and middle-aged women will be showing up to the premiere._  
_-Hollywood is full of sickos._  
_-The libs are at it again._

 

He opened article after article, and the comments were much of the same. Even reputable blogs and magazines were lambasting him for what was, in actuality, not his doing. He’d been promised a female co-star. That’s what he’d signed up for. How was he to blame for the studio’s choice? Besides, he’d been confirmed for the role ages ago. Where was the outrage _then_?

  
Steve exited out of the tab and threw his phone aside. His heart was thrumming hard against his chest, and his hands were clammy. He thought he’d been prepared to see the public’s reaction to this unfavorable turn of events, but seeing the attacks with his own eyes only made him angry, more upset.  
_It’s not fair!_

  
If only he could explain himself, but Natasha had forbidden from talking to the press without consulting the agency first. They had to make sure he’d only say whatever statement PR had approved for him. It almost seemed as though they were more concerned with preventing further damage to their brand than they were with trying to clear his name. So, what then? Were they hoping it would blow over? When? In whose hands was Steve’s fate?

  
His phone started to buzz again and Steve turned his head to see Sam’s name pop up on the screen. ” _I’m here._ ”

  
Steve burrowed his face in his hands.

  
It was going to be a long day.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

A pack of paps was waiting just outside his gate when he and Sam rolled out of his driveway. Steve had on a pair of sunglasses, but the tinted windows of Sam’s Sedan were doing the bulk of concealing him from prying eyes, even with the persistent flashes trying to illuminate his form from behind the glass.

When a pap smacked his lens into the window of Steve’s door, Sam started to curse up a storm. 

“Fucking idiots! If I find out there’s a scratch, there’ll be hell to pay!”

After a few more altercations, they finally made it to the road and onto the busy highway. Sam turned on the radio, and the sweet sounds of jazz permeated the stifling air. 

“How are you holding up?” Sam asked, peering at him from the rearview mirror.

Steve shrugged and removed his sunnies. “About as well as one can feel when the whole world is waiting to see you fall.”

Sam’s lips pressed into a line. He turned up the volume a notch or two.

The rest of the ride was made in relative silence.

As they turned onto the road where the company building was located, Natasha texted Sam to say she would be waiting for them in the conference room at the agency. Sam handed his keys off to the valet, grabbed Steve’s arm and pulled him through yet another barrage of relentless reporters. Security came to lend a hand. When they finally made it through and the glass doors closed behind them, Sharon— the company receptionist— stood from her desk and welcomed them. 

Steve gave her a little flirtatious nod. She only rolled her eyes and gave Sam a keycard for the elevator before going back to her computer.

“You know she’s unavailable, right?” Sam told him when they were inside the lift.

“I do,” Steve said, unaffected. 

“Alright. Just checking.”

A ding alerted them of their arrival, and the doors parted. Steve walked ahead, already knowing his way from having been coming to the agency for nearly a decade. Sam trailed close behind.

Behind a colony of cubicles were the private offices, and beyond those, was the conference room. Steve saw Natasha’s flaming hair from a distance. She was speaking to someone. When they got closer, he identified the man as Nick Fury: president of SHIELD Talent Agency. 

Both turned to face him, faces stoic when he pulled open the glass door and walked inside. 

“Finally, we can get this damned meeting started,” Fury said, pulling out a swivel-chair from under the rectangular table. Natasha motioned for Steve and Sam to sit, and while everyone settled down, she handed each person a copy of the statement that PR had prepared that same morning.

“I trust that you can read it on your own,” Natasha said, interlocking her hands over the table with false patience. 

Sam shot her a playful sneer, but picked up the paper and skimmed through it.

Fury sat back and watched. He probably already knew what it said; in fact, he’d probably dictated the statement himself, word for word.

“It’s a little bare,” Sam said finally. 

“Indeed,” Fury confirmed. “It was originally three pages long, but we received a request from Stark this morning, and I’ve decided to honor it.”

“What request?” Steve prompted. 

“As you may or may not know, James Barnes is signed to Stark Talent Agency, and as this matter concerns him as much as it does you, his team wants both companies’ statements to be in concordance with one another.”

“What does that mean?” Steve said, jaw tensed.

“It means that Barnes and his agent are on their way here. They’re bringing a draft of their own press release and, as a team,” she said, smiling tightly, “we must forge one immaculate and equally beneficial statement.”

Steve leaned back in his chair, defeated. Nothing was going his way.

Natasha’s eyes flickered to him briefly before turning to Fury. “I know Stark; he’s probably already had Pepper write a final copy. They’ll want us to sign off on it.”

“Well, Stark can shove it up his—“

“Fury,” Natasha chided.

At the very least Fury had the decency to look abashed, but the glint that reappeared in his eyes when Natasha looked away made Steve smile.

“So what? We’re just going to sit here and wait for them to show up on our turf and try to inveigle us?” Sam said, pushing his paper away.

Steve nodded, mirroring Sam’s incredulity. It was apparent what Stark was trying to do. Steve’s name was volatile enough on its own without his good-for-nothing agency interfering and somehow fucking it up for their actor, too. 

Well, he had to acquiesce on that front. Had he been signed to Stark Talent Agency, maybe his name would have been cleared long ago. If it weren’t for his friendship with Sam and Natasha, heck even Fury, he’d have found a new home. His father had always told him to think twice about mixing friendship and business together. There was hardly a point in cutting rotten ties if they were already dead. By the time you set yourself free, it’d be your head on the pike, and yours alone.

He grimaced. That was perhaps the only sound advice his pops had ever given him in his thirty-four years of life.

The conference room door opened, and Fury’s secretary poked her head in. “Sir, Mr. Barnes is here, should I let him in?”

“Yes, thank you, Maria,” he said. 

With a tight-lipped smile, she bowed out of the room. 

“It’s showtime,” Natasha murmured.

The doors opened again, and James Barnes and two other men entered. 

Steve’s brows scrunched together. He thought only Barnes and his agent would be coming. Who was the other man?

Fury stood to shake all their hands and motioned for them to sit. James just so happened to take the seat opposite Steve, while the two other men sat to Barnes’ left. 

“Thank you for having us,” one of the men said. “My client appreciates your willingness to collaborate with us. I’m sure we all want to put this little setback behind us.” His eyes flickered to Steve as he said that.

Steve’s lips pressed together. He felt Sam put a hand on his knee. He could almost hear him saying, “steady,” as if he were a golden retriever out for a walk, and the man, a gentle squirrel that happened to cross in his path. 

“Both our companies have vested interest in this project,” Fury said simply. It was a clear reminder of their mutual stake, albeit understated if Steve had ever heard one.

“Indeed,” said the man, cautious. “Oh, this is Mr. Rhodes, James’ lawyer. I hope you don’t mind that we’ve asked him to sit in.”

Of course, Steve thought. They wanted to make sure that all statements were signed off on without coercion, so that if anything went awry, SHIELD wouldn’t be able to sue STA for damages.

“There's no problem at all,” Natasha chimed in, hollow. 

Steve suspected she’d anticipated this move.

“Well, let’s not waste any more precious time,” said Fury.

Steve looked across the table to examine his enemy. James Barnes wasn't nearly as good looking in real life as he was in photos. He wondered what Peggy had seen in him. His eyes were a glare, and his hair was a greasy brown. His posture was slack like he didn't carry himself too seriously, and his mouth was etched into what he suspected was a permanent line. 

"This is the most revised version of the statement our PR team drafted. We thought very long and hard about how best to mitigate potential damage to our client while taking care to not slander Mr. Rogers further," said the lawyer.

Steve grimaced. Why were they acting like they were doing him a favor? If anything, James Barnes had more to lose in this venture than he did. They should be groveling at Fury's feet, not making pompous exaltations––demands. “Excuse me, but I don't think--" Steve started to say, but Natasha kicked him under the table, and he glared at her.

"That's all very well," she said, turning to the lawyer, “but we have written a statement of our own, and we think it'd be to everyone’s advantage if we could redraft one comprehensive press release. You state your terms, and we will state ours. We’ll compromise. You take no issue with this, I presume.”

Mr. Rhodes frowned. "We were under the impression that you'd already agreed to use our version of the statement.”

"Well, you assumed wrong," Sam countered. 

Steve was suddenly glad that the two were on the same side. Sam had a biting way with words, and it was a breath of fresh air considering the dull jargon that permeated every aspect of his life, whether it was on set or in the office.

“Well, since it doesn't look like there are any more misunderstandings, let's get this show on the road. Natasha, if you please."

Nat grabbed another short stack of papers from her folder and passed them along to each of their visitors.

Steve kept his lingering gaze on Barnes, trying to decipher his intentions. 

Steve was by all accounts a world star, so the pressure to not only perform well at the side of someone so accoladed but to outperform them would be a real concern for any rising actor. He wondered if Barnes wasn’t in actuality content with his predicament. Steve had fallen so far down that even if he did pull off a fantastic performance, people would be too triggered still by his scandal to give him proper credit, and Barnes would get all the glory for a well-done film.  
Was Barnes one of those actors—the opportunistic, parasitic kind— or was he of a different breed? 

He’d find out soon enough which was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story will be updated once a week while I do revisions.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

-4 months later-

 

Steve wondered if all the fates had decided to convene in secret and brand him a true pariah––not those snubbed by the media and the acting industry, but those whose very friends could not bear to be in their presence for longer than...oh, say...a couple of minutes.

He wondered this because Sam had stepped out a while ago and hadn’t yet returned.

They'd been discussing an upcoming scene that Steve wasn't too thrilled about, and Sam kept telling him it'd be over and done with soon enough. He just had to pretend his co-star was someone tolerable. Someone _not_ named James Barnes. Steve had rolled his eyes and reminded Sam that he wasn't an actor, so how could he give him any acting advice, and Sam took it to heart. It hadn’t originally been his aspiration to become a talent agent, after all.

So Steve had been a jerk, fine, he admitted it. But that was far from the worst thing that had ever been said between them. What about the time that Sam told Steve he needed a muse, that he was losing his spark as an actor, and that if he didn’t buckle down and get serious, even the newbies would surpass him. Hello! Low-blow!

To cool both of them down, Sam said he'd go get them some coffee. That was forty minutes ago. The coffee station was just two buildings down the backlot.

Steve switched on his phone, and his finger hovered over the twitter icon. Nope, he was not going to do that to himself. He'd promised Natasha that he'd stay away from social media until the movie premiered. He'd been good about it so far, but he felt sorry for the fans who still believed in him, and who supported him daily with their kind, appreciative comments. He wished everyone could see him the way they did. 

Instead, Steve opened his messages and spent a good two minutes staring at his last exchange with Peggy. The one from the night of their breakup––when Steve had been too drunk to answer her calls. She'd wanted to check in on him to make sure he'd be able to get home safely, but he ghosted her. When he arrived home a little past two in the morning, Peggy, having entered with the spare key, was waiting for him with arms crossed and fiery eyes. 

_"So this is what you do when I’m away,” she chided. "Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?"_

_Steve, inebriated and directionless, swayed on his feet. He held fast onto the back of the sofa so he wouldn’t fall over._

_”Peggy. Hi. I got your messages." He had a loopy grin on his face._

_”Yeah? Then why didn't you answer them? You've been drinking with the ‘commandos’ again, haven't you?"_

Ah, yes, the Commandos. Steve's military friends. Shortly after dropping out of college and before going to acting school, Steve had been in the army. He spent ten weeks at basic training before being deployed overseas. He served for three years. He didn’t exactly earn any outstanding honors or medals, but the experience taught him the value of discipline. Perhaps it was due to his short military career that he learned the ropes of acting as quickly as he did. His instructors always had words of praise for him, especially when it came to his tenacity. His resolve.

He lost contact with the Commandos for a while, but when Steve got famous, the gang just sort of clicked again. Dugan had been channel surfing when he paused on a weekday soap, and there he was, Steve in all his young, baby-faced glory. So his first gig wasn't exactly Emmy-worthy, but a few more tv spots and some commercial gigs later, he transitioned from soap sweetheart to blockbuster baddie, and no one anywhere had the right, or at least the gall, to deny his success. Not even his folks, as much as they begrudged him for it.

_“You’re good,” Steve slurred, stepping around the couch to try to throw his arms around Peggy. She side-stepped him._

_“Steve, you can’t go on like this. Don’t you care about your career? What if the paparazzi had caught you engaging in some… unseemly behavior?”_

_Steve smirked. “Like what?”  
“Like…I don’t know…getting into a brawl, or—“_

_“Or taking home a prostitute,” Steve said, serious. He wasn’t sober, but the conversation had come up before, and he knew what to say like it was a script he’d rehearsed many times. “You know I’d never—“_

_“I’m not accusing you of cheating,” Peggy said, dialing down her tone before their wrangle could alert the neighbors._

_“Then why?” Steve demanded to know. “You’re always upset by_ something _, whether I mean for it to happen or not.”_

_“Maybe if you weren’t so irresponsible all the time, I wouldn’t have to be.” She bit back. “I keep waiting for things to be different, but you never change.”_

_Steve’s rose to his full height. In spite of his stupor, the words had somehow sunk in—embedding into his core. “Don’t hold your breath.”_

_The light in Peggy’s eyes dimmed at that. “I’m done. Don’t contact me again,” she said, grabbing her coat, “and I’ll do my best to extend the same courtesy._

_“This.” She pointed a finger at him and then at her own chest, “The missed calls, the unanswered texts, the late-night fights. It all ends here.”_

_She skirted him and slammed the door behind her as she left. Overcome by anger, Steve grabbed an empty photo frame from the mantle and threw it against the wall._

_The glass shattered into a hundred tiny fragments._

The next day, Peggy sent her assistant to drop off the things Steve had left at her apartment and, true to her word, she didn’t so much as leave him a note. 

Steve didn’t touch alcohol for a long time, and though the Commandos understood to a point, when Steve couldn’t go out with them as frequently as before, they stopped inviting him out altogether. 

“Who needs friends,” Steve muttered. Even Sam, who got along with everyone and was the only person left by his side, felt distanced—like an insurmountable wall had been dropped between them.

Maybe Peggy had been right. Perhaps there _was_ something the matter with him. 

*

After James Barnes had wrapped up a solo scene on a lot a few blocks down, Steve was finally called off the bench for their very first scene together. The sun beat down on his face as Sam drove their golf cart to the specified lot, and if he hadn't already been wearing layers of sunscreen and makeup, it would have quickly become apparent how easily he burned. He bet the paps would’ve loved to snap photos of him looking like an overripe tomato.

Once on set, Steve's eyes unintentionally searched for his co-star. In a far corner by the water dispenser, he spotted Barnes. He was alone, dressed in a three-piece suit with his hair neatly coiffed. James was supposed to play the older, more seasoned lawyer, while Steve's character was the equally talented, but more naive counterpart. They would go at odds with each other to strike a favorable deal between two companies, one of which wanted to prevent the other’s merger on the grounds of attempted corporate monopoly. To be frank, the logistics went over Steves' head, but as long as he could make audiences believe he understood what was going on, it'd be fine. If there was something he _did_ get, it was acting. 

"Rogers and Barnes in five," the director said through her megaphone. 

The polite thing to do would be to introduce oneself, Steve found himself thinking. Niceties were always appreciated, even when both parties hated each other's guts.

His feet were already carrying him over to the water station when he realized what he was doing.

"Barnes," Steve said, grabbing himself a paper cup just so he could hold something solid in his hands.

James turned his head, eyes widening momentarily as he took a sip from his own. 

"Yeah?"

Steve held out his right hand. "Truce?"

Be cordial, Nat had told him. Nothing can go wrong. 

Barnes looked at his hand skeptically, before offering his own for a shake.

"We didn't get to introduce ourselves properly last time, so consider this our first meeting," Steve said. 

A small smile appeared on Barnes' face, which threw Steve's douche-radar off. 

"It's nice to officially meet you, Steve.”

When he realized they’d been holding hands for uncomfortably long, Steve drew back as if he’d been bitten. “Ditto.”

The director called the actors to set, and Barnes’ expression morphed back into one of impassiveness as though a switch had been turned on. 

_He’s focused,_ Steve noted begrudgingly. 

They made their way to their predetermined places. Barnes took a seat in front of a rectangular mahogany desk, and Steve stood under the frame of a large door.

A third character, one of the female leads, was supposed to hold Steve back from entering her office so that he wouldn't find Barnes' character sitting in front of her desk. 

As Steve's purported childhood friend, the last thing she wanted was for him to catch her having a drink with his enemy.

The director called for action.

Steve pushed past the woman and fixed his hard gaze on Barnes.

"Jimmy Buchanan," he recited, terse.

Barnes looked at Steve as though he'd never seen him in his life, even though their characters had gone to school together and there was unresolved enmity between them.

Jim’s lips quirked up at the ends. "Oh, Grant, right? How have you been?"

Even though it was an act, Steve couldn't help but feel annoyed. Barnes’ character knew very damn well who he was. "What are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Jim said, lifting up a half-empty glass of wine. "I'm meeting an old friend."

Dark electricity ran like a current through his eyes, challenging him, and for a moment, Steve wondered if his co-star was even acting at all. It was like Barnes had fused with Jimmy. There was no line of separation between the two. For the first time in a long time, Steve’s concentration faltered. He scrambled for his line.

“S-since when are you two friends?”

“Cut!”

Steve’s breath hitched.

“Let’s do that one again, from the top,” the director said, waving at the lighting crew and sounds engineers to get back in position. 

Steve was embarrassed. He’d never stuttered during a scene like that before, much less while acting opposite a rookie. What had gotten into him? 

When he looked back at Barnes, he expected to see a satisfied and condescending look in his eyes, but there was nothing devious to dissect—no minuscule twitch of the lips, no mocking twinkle in the eyes. Nothing. On the contrary, Barnes was doe-eyed, taking in his surroundings as though for the first time. His eyes sparkled with the nascent joy of realizing he was on a set and the cameras were on _him_. It was every newbie actor’s dream.

For a moment, he looked every bit the novice Steve had though he was. 

Then Steve blinked, and Barnes was back in character. As though the illusion of their act had not been shattered, and all was as it should be—as it had _always_ been. 

Steve’s jaw locked into place.

James Barnes was turning out to be more formidable than he predicted.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a disclaimer: 
> 
> In this story, Peggy is not Sharon's aunt. Sharon does, however, have an aunt named Marge (short for Margaret).

 

 

Steve sighed, dejected, as he got off the lift on his way back from trying Nat at her office. He’d been hoping to get some one-on-one advice from her, but she wasn’t in, and he _really_ needed someone to talk to while Sam was away at a family reunion for the weekend. Fury had allowed it only because filming wouldn’t happen for a few more days.

It’d only been a week since shooting started, but Steve thanked his lucky stars that the scenes he’d done with James Barnes had been kept to a minimum. Sensing their tension, the director had said she wanted to wait until both men were better acquainted with each other before moving on to filming the romance sequences. This both relieved and perturbed Steve. 

The more Steve tried to block out the fact that Barnes was his fictional love interest, the harder it became to stay in character. How could he keep his focus when every time he looked at Barnes’ face, he was reminded of the ego-bruising fact that he was Peggy’s new man and not just his professional rival?

Yes, he admitted it. Barnes was good. Much better than he initially gave him credit for. In fact, if the circumstances were different, he’d probably admire the guy. Heck, he might’ve even admitted him into his circle of actor friends, which, by the way, was no small feat. Celebrities of all walks and caliber longed to be in the elite ranks that only a few, such as Steve, belonged to. Hollywood called them the _Avengers._ It was a corny name, but it inspired awe amongst the public, and envy in the hearts of his unworthy peers. In reality, there weren’t many perks that came with the title, but once in a while benefit galas would be organized in their name, and all the proceeds would go to the members’ favorite charities. Steve personally enjoyed giving to the poor and underprivileged children of his hometown, Brooklyn.

“What’s with the long face?” Sharon said, peering at him over her computer. She was wearing glasses today. Steve didn’t know she used them.

“Had a long week,” he told her.

She eyed him for a moment and then shook her head. “Wow. I was kind of expecting deflection and boasting, you know, the usual.”

“Yeah, not today,” Steve said, walking over to rest his elbow on her desk. “It’s just…do you ever feel like you’re blocked? Like you can’t do even the most mundane and routine things, and you have no idea why?”

Sharon looked at him, contemplative. “Nope, sorry,” she chirped, then went back to her work. She seemed awfully giddy all of a sudden. “At the present time, the only thing keeping me from my mundane and routine job is _you_.”

Steve stared at her profile, hoping that if he stared hard enough, she would give in and let him whisper in her ear—metaphorically speaking, of course.

Sharon’s facade was impermeable. 

With another sigh, he turned so that the protruding edge of the table dug into the small of his back. 

Sharon stilled the movements of her hands on the keyboard and mirrored his dramatic sigh.

“Ok, what is it?”

Steve swiveled around to face her with a grin. “How much experience do you have with faking love?”

“What?” There was no mistaking the surprise in her voice. 

“Well, there’s this guy, and I have absolutely no attraction to him, and I’m supposed to be falling in love with him, but for several reasons I can’t divulge right now, we just can’t seem to _click_. I thought that maybe pretending he was someone else would help, but when I see him, all I want to do is bash his face in.”

Sharon’s jaw was on the floor. “I’m going to assume you’re talking about a role because if not, _yikes_ with a capital _Y._ ”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Well, have you? Ever faked being in love?”

“Absolutely not! There’s no possible reality in which that would make even an iota of sense.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped.

  
“Oh, come on. I don’t know what you wanted me to say,” Sharon said, a complaint in her tone. “Do you want validation for your, quite honestly, worrisome feelings? Or is it some other kind of advice you’re looking for?”

Steve pondered the question for a moment. 

“I guess…some words of wisdom might give me much-needed insight,” he said slowly.

A look passed over Sharon’s features. Her gaze softened. “Let me tell you something about me that no one in this company knows, well, besides Natasha and maybe Fury.”

Steve’s ears perked up.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed I’ve never reciprocated any of your half-hearted advances.” 

“That goes without saying.”

“There’s a very simple explanation for it.”

“You’ve got someone,” Steve said matter-of-factly. He’s known for a while.

Sharon chuckled. “Not only have I ‘got someone,’” she corrected, “but that someone is a _she_. I’m gay.”

Steve tried to school his expression. He honestly hadn’t seen this confession coming, but in hindsight, it made complete sense. Not that Sharon being a lesbian comforted him, ‘cause he didn’t need an excuse for a woman to turn him down. That would be egotistical and vain. But instead, Steve had always felt a twinge of unexplained camaraderie with Sharon, as though she were someone who might understand him. Like kindred spirits.

“Why do you keep it a secret?”

Sharon’s eyes flickered down to the table. “For one, no one’s really asked. It’s also really not anyone’s business.” She nodded like she was finally making sense of it for herself— as though it helped to vocalize her feelings. “But the real reason, I suppose, is that it’s a little scary.”

“How come?”

Sharon swallowed. “When I first came out, or I should say, _when my best friend outed me in front of my family_ , my family disapproved. Without them having to even say a word, I knew I was being cast out—like no one would come to give me a hand if I needed it. My aunt Marge was the exception. She’d always been…different…not like everyone else, and it was she who sat me down a few weeks after and told me about the time she’d fallen in love with a girl. She was a teenager when they met at a diner during summer break. My aunt became infatuated with the girl—one of the waitresses— and she visited her routinely for two months straight.”

Sharon smiled to herself, a twinkle in her eye. “They hit it off, you know. As it turned out, the girl—Angie— liked her back. Then school started again, and when my aunt went to the diner as she had every other day, Angie was gone. She didn’t even leave a note. Aunt Marge never saw or heard from her again. Turns out Angie’s family had found out about her and sent her away. My aunt was devastated.”

“That’s quite the sad story,” Steve offered. 

Sharon shook her head. “In a way. But according to my aunt, it was the best summer of her life. She said that if she could do it all over again, including the heartbreak, she would.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I didn’t either at first. But.” She paused. “It made me realize something.”

She twirled a pen in her hand. 

Steve wanted to probe further, but a part of him was afraid he would hear something he didn’t want to hear, like the secret of life, or some other potent or elusive realization. He wasn’t ready for an epiphany. Not yet.

“Logic is not the basis of love. We don’t choose who are attracted to any more than we are guaranteed a happily ever after with them. But life is short, so we have to take risks, no matter who or what stands in our way. My parents wanted me to go to law school. They wanted grandchildren to carry on the family legacy. They wanted and wanted and wanted, and made plans for me, but never once did they take my happiness into account. They never stopped to ask themselves,  _what does Sharon want?_ ”

Steve leaned over the flat part of her desk, rapt by her words. “What _did_ Sharon want?”

“Freedom. Independence. To carve her own path. To be with the person she loves, and who loves her back— whose happiness she could put on a higher pedestal than her own.”

“Your girlfriend?”

“For a long time, I was miserable,” Sharon explained. “Swim meets every morning from five to seven. Tutors every other day from three to six. Church on Sundays, always. Family reunions. Stuck up relatives. Demanding parents. You get the gist.

“When I met Maria, she was so free and dazzling. Everything about her made me feel like I’d been living my life all wrong. At first, I thought it was because I wanted to be her. It wasn’t until Senior Prom, when we got to talking, ditched our dates and snuck out behind the school, that I realized I wanted to be _with_ her. We had our first kiss that night.”

Something stirred inside Steve. His heart constricted, and his throat became dry. “How long were you together?”

Sharon smiled. “Eight years in two months.”

He couldn’t help the smile that manifested on his own face. 

“Love is crafty,” Sharon said. “It sneaks up on you. It doesn’t discriminate between man and woman, or everything in between. When it happens, it happens. It’s one of many things out of our control. But it does have a cripple: fear. It paralyzes love and makes it seem daunting and unattainable, but it isn’t invincible. Fear is a _choice_. It can be overcome.”

Steve let the words play over in his head. _Fear is a choice._

“I get what you’re saying, but I’m not looking to fall in love for real, I just need to pretend to.”

“See, that’s the fear talking.”

Steve balked at the insinuation and crossed his arms. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Sharon challenged. “Steve, there’s no reason to falsify love. Set your inhibitions free. _Allow_ yourself to be swept away by the feeling. When you stop fighting it, you might come to surprise yourself—find something special inside you that you never thought you had.”

“It’s my job to pretend, Sharon.”

“I’m not saying you have to fall head over heels,” she clarified. “Just let yourself open up to the idea. Think about the _what ifs_. Don’t you think you’d be able to give a better performance if it wasn’t _all_ an act?”

She got him there, he admitted with a frown. Sam was always saying he needed a muse. Maybe, just _maybe_ , Barnes was it.

He’d really been hoping it’d be some glowing goddess, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

“Just try it,” she insisted. “No one will be the wiser.”

Steve nodded, realizing that it might not be such a bad idea.

Let the world think it's all pretending, that he can draw up that much emotion from his acting arsenal. Not only would critics shower him with praise, but maybe, just maybe, the public would be moved and start to love him again. 

 

Steve went home and hopped in the shower, thinking up how he was going to approach Barnes the next time they had a scene together. During the first few days of shooting, they'd been awkward around each other, even with Steve proposing a truce, so what could he do to gain his trust? What could he do to make him let Steve in? He had to get inspiration from his muse _somehow_ , and he didn't think just watching him would suffice. He'd _been_ watching him. All this time. And so far, there hadn't been any sparks or epiphanies. He needed to prod his muse on. Perhaps it was the environment that was hindering them—all those people and cameras. He needed to see Barnes off-duty— bring him elsewhere. Some place where the two could just be— oh, who knows.

Just _be_. 

Yes, he would invite him out. Had to. Wanted to.

After he finished washing and toweled himself off, he hopped on the computer and started reading through Barnes' interviews, even watched some of his Fallon and Ellen clips. All in the name of research, of course.

After several hours of perusing the web, Steve walked away with much more information than he’d ever hoped to know about James Barnes, the infamous up-and-coming actor. He felt as if he knew the guy just as intimately as he knew Sam.

He jotted down some notes and leaned back in his chair, moving his arms behind his head. He felt accomplished. 

Tomorrow, he would talk to Barnes. Ask him out for a drink. Something low-key and casual. He liked beer. So did Steve. This should be easy, he thought. 

Now, things would only go wrong if Barnes turned him down.

Steve hated to lose, but he hated being rejected even more. If it came down to that, it would bruise like hell, but he'd have to grit his teeth and try again. After all, Barnes was an enigma, and cracking him would be worth it.

He slid his chair from under the table and got on his feet. After stretching out his limbs and cracking the stiffness out of them, he turned off the lights and went to bed. 

What _did_ Barnes even think of him?

Guess he’d find out.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw Endgame last Friday. I loved it so much I'm seeing it again tomorrow.
> 
> :)


	5. Chapter 5

 

Steve got out of bed half an hour earlier than usual. All night he’d tossed and turned, and when he finally managed to shut his eyes, got four hours of sleep before waking up in the middle of the night. Unable to drift off again, he just laid there, staring up at the ceiling and listing his entire filmography, hoping to eventually tire himself out.

Instead, he found his mind drifting off to where, deep down, he didn’t want to go. James Barnes: the actor, Peggy Carter’s love interest, the _muse_. To be more precise, he thought about how much it boiled his blood to know that he, _Steven Rogers_ , needed something from him.

That unsavory detail wrapped around his head like a vice, making his blood whoosh in his ears until he got tired of doing nothing else, and he got up, at last, to go on a short jog around the neighborhood. On his way back to the apartment, he stopped for a coffee and then called Sam to let him know he'd be driving himself to the studio. 

Sam seemed surprised to hear that he was taking the initiative to do something by himself for once, but didn’t pry. He knew better than to ask questions when Steve got this way. 

The truth was, Steve wanted to head out with Barnes after shooting, and he figured it’d be a little inconvenient to have someone else there, even if that someone was Sam. 

_No_. This was Steve's solo venture. He was the one who had to get on personal terms with James Barnes. Sam would just be a buffer, and he needed all of Barnes’ attention on _him_ tonight.

He hopped into his white Mercedes Benz, his vehicle of choice whenever he wanted to avoid drawing attention to himself. It wasn’t the most expensive in his collection, but it was sleek enough to upkeep his image were he to be caught driving around the less savory parts of town, where the best bars happened to be.

Steve let the valet take his keys before entering the backlot, where he hopped on a golf cart that was cruising by in the direction of the day’s first set. The driver only cast him a sidelong glance and shrugged. 

Steve whipped out his schedule and grinned.

He had a couple of scenes in the backlot with the female lead, and another two scenes on-site with James Barnes later in the day. They were expected to run until late. He whooped, celebratory, at the perfect timing.

When he entered the studio, a bounce in his step, he greeted the staff and the director before making his way over to his co-star. She was dressed in a navy blue blazer and matching dress pants. Her hair was styled in a high bun, and her lips were painted a deep maroon.

Steve blessed her with his movie-star smile, and she swooned.

When lunch came around, James Barnes sauntered into the lot, and Steve made a beeline for him. Barnes had been filming another scene next door. He knew this because he’d asked Sam to swipe Barnes’ schedule a week earlier, and now he owed his agent a flat screen for his birthday

"James, hello," he said, clapping the brunet on the shoulder. 

Barnes flinched imperceptibly. "Rogers."

"Call me Steve. We agreed to get on, remember?”

James pursed his lips but nodded. "I suppose we did."

"What do you think about today's shoot? Our characters are going to get a little cozy, huh?”

James's eyes flickered to his shoes and then back up to Steve's face. “Yeah, I read the script. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

"Me? God, no. Whatever gave you the impression?" He beamed a happy smile. 

Before Barnes could elaborate, Steve was pulled away by his stylist, who'd been unsuccessfully trying to get his attention for three full minutes.

"I'll see you later, man,” he called back, nonchalant, before tearing his gaze from the befuddled man.

*

After pulling off what he felt were several successful scenes, Steve went into a dressing room to change his clothes. Then he retrieved his keys from the valet and drove to the on-site location, which was a forty-minute drive from the city.

He sang loudly to the tunes on the radio the whole way. He felt good. Prepared. Like nothing could get in his way. Like there was nothing he couldn’t do. It’d been a long time since he felt this way.

When he arrived, his stylist whisked him away again to get him changed into a suit vest and some really nice dress pants. All was well up until he stepped outdoors.

Steve mentally cursed at the director. _Who the hell decided it would be a good day to film outside?_

It was hot—so hot that Steve's makeup artist had to keep coming around to do maintenance on him between takes. More than the smudged makeup, Steve was worried that he’d sweat through his clothes and have to keep changing. The last thing he wanted was for there to be rumors that he was holding up production. _One more item in a long laundry list of things to pin on Steve Rogers_ , he thought, knowing that his cynicism was well-earned.

Steve looked around to see if he was the only one feeling the severe effects of the heat, and his heart sank.

James Barnes was dressed in khaki shorts and a baby blue polo shirt suitable for a day out at the golf club. He looked annoyingly perfect, holding his stupid little parasol with his dark shades on.

Steve almost swiveled around to lash at Sam for not thinking of that sooner, but then he remembered he’d explicitly told the man to take the day off. 

“Great,” he muttered, looking down at his rolled up script, a frown overtaking his lips. 

When everyone was settled, the director took a seat in her chair and called for the actors to take their cues, and the cameras to start rolling.

Steve immediately cast all other thoughts aside and tried to focus on the scenes they’d be doing today. 

In this first, Jimmy Buchanan’s entire firm was out for a day of golfing and, Jimmy, being the asshole that he was, had extended the invite to his nemesis, Grant. Steve's character. Grant had accepted only so that he could inveigle classified information about his client out of him. It was a little ironic that Steve was doing the exact same thing—trying to find out more about Barnes by pretending to get along. 

"You play often?" Grant said, slipping off his sunnies to rub away a smudge on one lens with his handkerchief.

Jimmy Buchanan only handed him a club and told him to keep an eye out for the birds because they had a habit of swooping down and snatching the balls, which to them resembled eggs. 

“Got it,” Grant muttered, positioning himself to take aim. His character was a novice when it came to golf, but Steve was quite the expert. He felt it was a little condescending to have to feign ignorance of things like wind velocity and bunkers, but he mustered the professionalism to pull through, and changed his angle so his ball would land just outside the rough.

Jimmy Buchanan scoffed behind him. 

Steve immediately tensed. That wasn't in the script. Barnes was improvising, and he did the one thing he should have been more guarded against. He reacted. 

_Dammit_. This guy might actually be able to manipulate him like a puppeteer if he wasn’t more careful.

“Need a hand?” 

“I’m good,” Grant said, clearing his throat, and slightly changing his angle again. 

Steve swung, and he and James both watched expectantly as the ball soared into the air and curved with the wind.

Barnes whistled, impressed when it landed on the green.

“Lucky shot,” Steve said, a confident smirk on his lips.

Miraculously, the director seemed unperturbed by the improvisation and didn’t call for a cut, which meant she wanted to see where this was headed. So long as he and Barnes stayed the course of the story, she wouldn’t interrupt them. That was one of the reasons Steve had taken the role. This director was infamous for always considering the actors’ feedback.

“Why are you here?” Jimmy said, kicking a loose patch of grass. His voice was severe like he was interrogating Grant at the stand and not asking him an innocuous question. 

“You invited me,” Grant countered, resting both hands on the top end of his club. He leaned his weight forward. “Here I thought you couldn’t stand me.”

Buchanan’s lips pressed into a hard line. He removed his glasses and fixed his icy stare on Grant. “It was a formality. I didn’t think you’d accept, but here you are, and I want to know why.”

“You’re an enigma I want to solve,” Grant said, shrugging half-heartedly. “And you’re the lawyer of my client’s biggest rival.”

“So this is what? A business outing?”

Grant smirked. “Consider it an appraisal.”

“You’re sizing me up? _You?_ ”

“You make it sound like something inconceivable, and yet _here we are_ ,” Grant said, launching his own words back at him.

“It’s absurd, that’s what it is. I’ve got years of experience on you, kid.”

Steve gritted his teeth upon hearing the very words he’d said so often to other actors, and to have them hurled back at him, even in this context, felt like karma.

“Just because you’ve been on this planet a couple of years longer, doesn’t make you more experienced. I became partner at twenty-five. What were you doing at twenty-six? Attending lectures and writing dissertations. Tell me again, how long have you been practicing?”

The line was a slightly more provocative version from the one in the script. He was supposed to have smiled sardonically and only asked the second question. Everything that came before it was info dump they gave the actors so that they could familiarize themselves with their character. It would have been kept off-screen otherwise.

Barnes—Jimmy’s lips turned down at the corners. “What is it you want to know?”

Bingo! 

“What do you have against me?” Grant said, returning his club to its bag. His back was turned to Barnes. “What secrets? What weaknesses do you think you’ve gotten all figured out?”

It was silent except for the shuffle of feet on the grass, which grew perceptibly louder as the seconds passed. All went still, and Grant felt the heat of Buchanan’s looming body mere centimeters from him. A warm puff of breath hit the nape of his neck. 

Steve shivered.

Grant almost swiveled around to complain, but a gloved hand fell on top of his, and he looked over his shoulder. Jimmy was staring him in the eye, and his lips were only a breath’s distance from his own.

Grant’s eyes razed over the landscape of the brunet’s face—uncertainty taking hold of him.

Steve’s heart was beating fast in his chest.

Jimmy leaned in closer, and Steve wanted to recoil, but he couldn’t. _This is an act_ , he reminded himself. He had to lean into it. So he did.

Jimmy pulled away, a tantalizing smirk on his luscious lips. “I can see that it’s more than just secrets you’d like me to have against you.”

With that, he stepped back to place a ball on a new tee, and let Grant have his air again— let _Steve_ finally breathe.

“Cut!”

*

“Have a drink with me,” Steve said once the director had called it a wrap and he and Barnes were back in their own clothes.

Barnes stopped talking to the director and froze. “What?”

“I’m going to go speak with the camera crew,” the director said, reading the atmosphere. 

When she slipped away, Barnes squared his shoulders to face him.

“Are you upset about today? Look, I’m sorr—”

“No, that’s not it.” Steve cut in. “I want to have a drink with you, that’s all. Do you have plans?”

Barnes scrutinized him for a second longer before a quiet “no” slipped from his mouth.

“Great.” Steve slung his arm around the brunet, steering him toward his car. “I know the best place. It’s not far.”

“Let me just notify my manager,” Barnes said, whipping out his phone.

Like Steve said, the ride to the bar wasn’t long; the evening traffic was winding down, and they arrived in fifteen minutes tops.

The pub was a small, out of the way Irish-styled joint wedged between a family-owned Italian diner, and a deli. Barnes stepped out of the car and simply gawked. When Steve came around and clapped him on the back, he seemed to bounce back to life.

“You come here often?”

Steve grinned. “Not as much as I’d like to. Come, you’ll love it.”

True to Steve’s words, Bucky seemed to feel right at home. They took a seat at the bar and ordered their first round of beers. The atmosphere was rather lovely. The lighting was dimmed, but they could see each other just fine, and though the group of men at one of the back tables was lively, their chatter wasn’t boisterous and didn’t drown out the sound of their voices. 

“I didn’t think Hollywood hotshots like you came to places like this,” Barnes said, taking a sip of the golden liquid on the bar in front of him.

“There’s a lot about me most people wouldn’t imagine. For instance,” he said, motioning with his head towards the dartboard that hung on the wall to his right. “I have great aim.”

Barnes looked at him, a challenge brewing in his eyes.

“You wanna try me?” 

The brunet shrugged and finished off his glass. He stood and sauntered over to the board. “Twenty bucks says I can hit a bullseye in under five,” he said.

“I can hit it in three.”

“You’re on.”

In actuality, it took Barnes seven throws to hit a bullseye, and Steve got it in his third, as promised. But when an inebriated Barnes challenged him to another round, neither could replicate their success.

“You can’t go around bragging you’re a good shot with these numbers,” Barnes said, a playful edge to his voice. “They’re inconsistent.”

Steve downed his third drink and waggled a finger at him. “It’s ‘cause I’m tipsy. You should see me when I’m sober.”

That earned him a concerned look. “How the hell are we gonna get home?”

Steve chuckled and pulled Barnes to his side, winding an arm around his waist. “Relax, Connell here has a flat above the pub. He lets me stay over sometimes. Isn’t that right, Connell? I’ll drive you home in the morning.”

He jutted his thumb back at the older, dark-haired man behind the bar.

The owner, Neill Connell, flipped Steve the bird as he wiped the counter down with a rag. 

“’m gon’a make ye start paying rent,” he grumbled.

Steve only laughed. “Is my patronage not enough?”

Connell glared at him, and Steve put his hands up in surrender. “I’ll tip you real good, you’ll see.”

Then he turned to Barnes and threw his weight against him, clinging onto the fit man like a rag doll. “Help me upstairs, man.”

Barnes sighed deeply but carried him up. 

Once they were in the quaint attic-turned bedroom, Steve clumsily pulled the extra duvet from the bureau at the end of the twin-sized bed, grabbed the extra pillow off the mattress and tossed them on the floor. He figured it should be enough to protect them from the cold draft sneaking between the wooden boards.

“We’ll arm wrestle for it,” he said, nearly falling over and hitting his head on the iron bedpost.

With a roll of his eyes, Barnes one-handedly pushed Steve back to sit on the bed and helped him take off his shoes. “Forget it. I’ll take the floor.”

Steve’s eyes were glassy, and his vision was a bit blurred, but he didn’t tear his eyes away from the crown of Barnes’ head. 

He truly was an enigma—this man. A puzzle with a thousand pieces and Steve wanted very much to put it together. 

“You know,” he said, a lazy drawl in his voice. He hiccupped. “You’re not so bad, Barnes. Once I’ve gotten a closer look at you.”

The brunet chuckled, deep and low. It was a sound that made Steve’s toes tingle and curl.

“I can say the same about you.”

A warm feeling spread in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know if it was the effects of the alcohol, or something else. He didn’t care.

“Sleep with me,” Steve said, falling back onto the mattress and closing his eyes.

“W-what?”

“On the bed,” he said, patting the space beside him. “It’s chilly up here.”

Barnes hesitated. 

Steve wanted to open his eyes and see his expression, but he was just so tired.

“It’s a tight fit. I’d rather take my chances on the floor.”

Steve frowned. If Barnes didn’t want to lay with him, he didn’t need to make excuses. _Just say you don’t want to share a bed with a homophobe, jerk._

Silence fell around them. For a moment, Steve wondered if he hadn’t accidentally spoken aloud.

“Goodnight, Steve,” Barnes said, and Steve’s fears were placated.

“Night.”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few days late, but here is the next chapter :)

 

_Jim pushes Grant against the wall and his hands secure tightly around the blond’s hip bones._

_“What a-are you doing, Buchanan?”_

_“Call me Bucky,” the man murmurs, breath tickling his ear before moving down his jawline and pressing a kiss to the pale skin._

_Grant shudders involuntarily. His hands cup Bucky’s elbows to guide his large hands under his loosened button-up shirt. He breathes out with pleasure as the warmth from their bodies mingle, but it isn’t enough. He wants_ more _. Wants to feel the other man pressed against him in all the ways that matter. He’s been craving this contact for almost as long as he’s been abstaining from it._

_Now he can’t even remember_ why _. Why did he push the other man away?_

_“Clothes off,” he rasps._

_Bucky smirks against his lips and steps closer to Grant to thrust his pelvis to the blond’s straining erection._

_“You first,” Bucky says, and he slips a hand down into Grant’s trousers to feel him in the palm of his calloused hand._

_Grant groans against the warm friction, closes his eyes, and instinctively thrusts up. The feel of somebody else’s hands on him is so_ good _._

_“That’s it, sweetheart,” Bucky says in a deep, gravelly voice that can only belong to_ him. _“Let go.”_

_The tension in Grant’s body dissipates, and he’s a left a pliant mess in the arms of the gorgeous man whose hands are working expertly to give him pleasure, but it’s not just his hands that are gifted, Grant learns._

_Bucky’s lips are attached to his neck, sucking a delicious bruise right where everyone will be able to see, and that possibility alone makes Grant flush—brings him closer to his release._

_Fabric is pushed aside, and hands roam to touch all that they can, and when Grant is on the cusp of finishing, his body tenses up and there are tingles on his lower back and abdomen._

_Bucky’s eyes darken, a mocking smile curling his lips._

_He leans forward, the personification of sin and lust._

_“I’ve got you in the palm of my hand._ Steve _.”_

*

Steve awoke from his sleep with a jolt, hand reaching for his phone in the dark, quiet room to turn on the flashlight and find his shoes and the jacket he’d strewn somewhere on the floor. 

He felt awful. His head was throbbing, and all the blood had rushed to his dick.

_What in hell was that dream?_

He swung his legs over the bed, eyes scanning his surroundings in a post-dream haze.

It didn't escape his notice that James Barnes was gone, his laid out duvet devoid of any clues it had been slept on, and that he’d left a note on the pillow. 

Steve picked it up and shone the light on the uneven scrap of paper. 

_Called my manager to pick me up. See you at the shoot._

Well, if that wasn't a very impersonal parting message, Steve thought shrewdly. Would it have killed him to scribble in a smiley face, or heck, an exclamation mark?

He crumpled the paper and tossed it over his shoulder. 

Once he had his things in hand and his appearance was deemed acceptable, he descended the musty stairs to reenter the world of light. 

"Here, Connell," he said, looking over his sunnies and offering the older man a crisp fifty-dollar bill. "Thanks for letting me crash again.”

Connell only shook his head before going back to work. 

It was still early and the pub was empty, but Steve trod carefully as he poked his head out the door to make sure there weren't any sneaky paps hiding out in the bushes or behind the trees. When the coast looked clear, he dashed to his car and booked it out of there as quickly, but inconspicuously, as he could.

There was a whole lot he wanted to update Sharon on, and he didn’t want to waste another minute.

When he arrived at SHIELD, he paraded himself into the lobby until he reached Sharon.

"Guess where I was last night," he said mysteriously, resting both forearms on her desk.

Sharon didn’t even spare him a glance as she continued to organize a stack of papers in the filer in one of the drawers.

"I don't want to know."

"I went out with James Barnes," he said, dismissing her disinterested tone. "I did as you suggested and let myself open up to him."

"That's great," she grumbled. "And?"

Steve balked at her. "And that’s huge! I made progress!"

"What kind of progress might that be?"

“We talked. We played darts,” he said. "It was actually kinda nice."

It was true. Once he let himself forget who Barnes was to him, spending time with him and having a drink together proved to be somewhat therapeutic. 

"I'm glad you had a good time, Steve. Can I please get back to work?"

Steve walked around the desk and planted his hands on the back of her chair, pulling her around to face him. 

"What the hell?"

"Sharon, please. I'm trying to tell you that James Barnes and I have put our enmity aside. Isn't that worth celebrating?"

Sharon tapped a finger to her lips. "Well, considering you're an arrogant asshole most of the time, I suppose that _is_ quite the revolutionary character development."

"See?" Steve grinned, ignoring the jibe. "People were wrong about me. I _can_ play nice."

“But do you think you'll be able to _play_ his lover? That’s what you came to me about last time, no?“ 

Steve's smile faded slowly as the words seeped in. His jaw locked. 

"L-lovers.”

It was Sharon's turn to smirk. “Oh! Looks like someone really did have too much fun.”

Steve flushed and turned from her to hide his face. 

“Perhaps a bit more than just a little,” she mused, clearly entertained by his reaction.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do know, but it’s none of my business,” she said in a sing-song voice before swiveling around to continue filing. “Well, I wish you luck.”

*

On the way to his apartment, Sam called him, and Steve touched the screen on the dashboard to answer him.

“What’s up?”

“Hey, man. Where were you last night?”

“At Connell’s. Why?”

“I went to your house this morning, and you were out.”

“Oh, yeah. I spent the night. I’m just getting back from seeing Sharon at the company.”

“Sharon?”

“Why is that surprising? We’re friends. Sort of.”

“Were you trying to get in her pants again?”

Steve’s mouth opened and closed, the words getting caught in his throat.

“It’s not like that. She’s just been helping me with a little problem. Anyway, what did you want to tell me?”

“Ok, ok. No need to snap at me,” Sam whined. “I was just calling to let you know that filming for this evening has been canceled. Barnes called in sick.”

Steve almost ran a red light. “What? But I was with him last night, he looked fine.”

“Yeah, I don’t know, man. I only got the memo, I didn’t hear it from him directly.”

Steve stepped on the gas and made a U-turn at the next intersection. “Thanks for letting me know, talk to you later, bye.”

“Wait, Steve—“

_Click._

What the hell, Steve thought. What had happened between last night and that morning to have made Barnes sick? All they’d done was drink a few beers and sleep. He remembered the room _had_ been a bit chilly, so perhaps he caught a cold. Or did some virus carrying insect bite him in his sleep?

His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter.

If he’d just let Barnes take the bed, maybe then…. No. That wasn’t the issue. He shouldn’t have had so many drinks. That was the truth. He should have stayed sober so he could drive Barnes home instead of coercing him to spend the night in some shoddy attic with him. And for what? So Steve could draw the muse out from him? _What_ muse?

Steve felt responsible. That was the worst part. Steve Rogers and responsibility did not mix well together. They repelled each other like similar charges on a magnet. 

“Siri,” he said, turning up the volume of his phone. “Where can I get soup to go?”

*

After buying a liter of chicken soup, he called Natasha for a favor. She refused to be complicit with his plan at first—said she’d have to make several calls, and even then it wouldn’t be a guaranteed thing—but he made her an offer she couldn’t refuse.

_“I’ll stop drinking for a month—two months!”_

_“Steve—“_

_“Please, Nat. It was my fault, let me fix it.”_

_She sighed. “Alright. But a promise is a promise.”_

Once she acquired Barnes’ address and passed it on to him, and god knows how she managed it, he drove straight over. 

Barnes lived in a private neighborhood in the hills. The security at the gates would not have let him through if they hadn’t recognized his face. The signed photos he gave them were probably a nice touch. It was a good thing he always had a few in his glove box, ready for any situation. He’d avoided many speeding tickets this way. 

He located the house fairly easy. It was a white two-story condo. The car he’d seen Barnes drive in after work was parked in the driveway as well as a familiar blue convertible. 

He froze mid-step. “No way.”

The muscles in his face locked; his hand clenched the plastic bag of the soup he’d brought for Barnes. He approached the door.

This is ridiculous. What was he doing here? 

He was foolish to think he’d be the one to nurse Barnes back to health. Not when he had a girlfriend to take care of him.

And yet, he couldn’t stop his finger from inching toward the doorbell. He recited a reassuring cheer inside his head and pressed the button. 

Just as cowardice began to poison his will and he entertained making a run for it, the door swung open to reveal Peggy, who was wearing jeans and a mauve sweater. Steve hadn’t seen her in person since that one fateful night.

Her eyes rounded with surprise upon seeing him on her boyfriend’s porch. “Steve?”

Her voice was just as he remembered it—lyrical but firm.

“What are you doing here?’

Steve struggled to find words, even after having rehearsed this moment time and time again. 

“I—um.” He looked down. “I brought soup.”

Peggy’s glower softened upon seeing the bag. Resigned, she pushed the door wider to let him through.

“He’s upstairs in the second room to the left,” she told him, taking a seat on the leather chair in the main room. She crossed her ankles and placed her hands neatly on her lap, eyes facing the large window on her right.

“Why can’t you look at me?” Steve said, choking out the words.

Peggy’s shoulders sagged infinitesimally. “Steve, I’m not in the mood. You came for James, didn’t you?? Your visit will cheer him up.”

“I doubt it,” he scoffed.

This got Peggy to look at him. “Why do you say that?”

“It’s my fault he got sick.”

“Steve, that’s not—”

“Don’t try to make me feel better, Peggy. I don’t deserve it. Least of all from you. I couldn’t make up for the pain I caused you, but please, allow me to do this completely unselfish thing. I know…I know how much you care for him.”

“Soup won’t fix everything that’s happened.”

Steve could hear the anger rising in her voice.

“I know, I know. But it’s a start.”

They held each other’s gaze, brown and blue clashing, scrutinizing the other’s resolve. 

When the air was too thick and stifling, Peggy let out a small breath and got to her feet, taking up the coat that’d been strewn across the back of her seat.

“Take care of him, Steve. I’m counting on you.”

With that, she grabbed her keys from the glass table by the door and saw herself out.

Steve stood in place for a few moments afterward, ruminating on her last words.

They’d been said with so much finality— as if loaded with another secret meaning. Another piece of the puzzle that could help him uncover who in the world was James Barnes. 

*

Steve wasn’t a brute, for all that he was selfish and physically unaware of the discomforts of others, he had enough common sense to knock on Barnes’ door before prying it open. 

He poked his head into the room, a tentative smile on his lips.

“Hey,” he said, coming inside. “My agent told me you weren’t feeling well, so I brought you this.” He lifted the clear bag for him to see.

Barnes was laying in bed under the covers, brows knit together. “Peggy let you in? Where is she?”

Steve frowned. “She left.”

A flash of concern crossed his face. 

Steve suddenly felt intrusive. He should have realized he wouldn’t be welcome here. What was he to Barnes, anyway? A mere costar. A nuisance. A reminder of Peggy’s pain.

“I can go, too...”

“No,” Barnes said, quickly. He tried to sit up.

“Hey, don’t do that,” Steve said, reaching for him. He put the plastic bag on the bedside table.

“I’ve been laying down for hours. I need to sit,” Barnes said.

Steve sighed and helped set the pillows behind his back for support. “Are you hungry? Do you want to have some soup?”

“Not yet. Maybe in a little while. Sit. It makes me uncomfortable to see you just standing there.”

Steve looked around the large, minimalistic room, but there were no seats.

Barnes patted the bed. “Come.”

Reluctantly, he did as he was told and the plush mattress dipped beneath his weight.

“I’m sorry for last night.”

Barnes waved him off, unconcerned. “Nothing we did last night is the reason I’m stuck in bed. A costar came to work sick a few days ago, and I must’ve caught his cold.”

Steve felt the tips of his ears get hot. “Oh.”

They sat in an uncomfortable silence that was only broken when Barnes went into a sneezing fit.

Steve reached for a tissue from the box on the nightstand and handed it over.

“Thanks,” Barnes mumbled weakly. “You should probably go before you get sick, too. I’ll be fine.”

Steve heard the hesitance in his voice. It was probably true that he didn’t want Steve to get sick, but he didn’t believe for a second that Barnes would be okay left alone in the state he was in.

He shook his head. “Nah. I still feel bad about making you sleep in an attic. Besides, what if something had happened to you after I got you drunk?”

“But nothing happened. Look, Steve. You don’t have anything to feel guilty about. I accepted your invitation. I knew I’d had contact with a sick person. I’m the one who should have known better than to compromise myself the way I did.”

Steve let out a ragged breath. “We’re not going to see eye to eye on this, are we?”

Barnes chuckled. “That’s up to you. I heard you can be quite stubborn.”

Steve’s breath hitched. “Who told you that?” He'd meant to sound playful, but it came out strained.

Recognition flashed in Barnes’ eyes. “O-one hears things in this industry,” he said averting his gaze.

“It was Peggy, wasn’t it?” There was no hiding the disappointment in his voice.

Barnes had the decency to look abashed, but he didn’t deny it.

“What else has she told you about me?” Steve said. “All the bad stuff, I presume. Did she tell you about how we broke up? How it was my fault? That I’m a hopeless egotistical drunk and don’t have a single mature bone in my body?”

“She didn’t—“

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped.

Steve got to his feet. His hands hung at his sides, clenched as he made his way to the door. 

He didn’t know why he was feeling this way. Why it mattered so much what Barnes thought of him. Last night he’d seen how easy it was to open up to someone—to show them his real face. Barnes had probably gone home and laughed at him behind his back. He’d probably called Peggy to share anecdotes about what an incorrigible idiot he was. It had only been a few months since he vowed off drinking, and he’d so quickly reverted to his old, toxic habits. 

“Steve, wait. This isn’t what you think…”

“ _I_ don’t even know what I think,” Steve said with a self-deprecating laugh. He suddenly felt so pathetic. “Enjoy your soup.”


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

“Steve, you can do this. I know you can.”

“Can I?” said Steve, pacing in his trailer. “I shouldn’t have taken this role, Sam. I should have refused the second I knew who I was up against.”

“You did what you thought was best. Come on, man. There is still time to make it right.”

“I don’t know about that,” Steve grumbled. 

“Steve, you’re an actor. It’s so easy for you to get in front of a camera and pretend to be someone else. Why is it suddenly different when the cameras are off?”

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “If it wasn’t _him_ , maybe I could.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re making excuses. Get out there. Do your job. Show the world why you’re irreplaceable.”

Steve came to a stop and weighed Sam’s words. In his mind he pictured Lady Liberty, in all her brave and just splendor, and on one of her scales was his fame—his reputation— while on the other was his pride. It was easy to presume which outweighed the other as far as his priorities were concerned, but it was as if a block of compressed arrogance had been chained to Lady Liberty’s wrist, doubling its weight and creating an even greater disparity between the scales. 

“It’s time you started to make some different choices,” Sam offered. “Do the opposite of what you normally do.”

He walked to the door of Steve’s trailer and reached for the steel knob.

“You think that will work?” Steve said, pushing down the hope that was threatening to spill into his voice.

Sam grimaced.” If it doesn’t, I don’t know what will at this point.” He motioned his head towards Steve’s wardrobe. “Get dressed. The shoot’s in half an hour.”

Sam left Steve alone with his thoughts. Flashes from the day he visited Barnes’ house were still vivid in his mind, playing over and over, and the more he remembered, the more embarrassed he became by how stupidly he’d acted. If filming suffered because of the strain he put on his and Barnes’ newly minted relationship, he’d only have himself to blame.

He walked to his wardrobe and perused the ensemble that his stylist had laid out for him: a gray two-piece suit and a pale pink tie. That they wouldn’t be filming outdoors again was possibly the only silver lining amidst so much bad karma.

*

James Barnes looked like a new person. His face was the same, his hair was styled neatly as usual, and his clothes were the generic lawyer fare, but his aura was different. He was resplendent— rejuvenated. All sickly sallowness Steve had detected before was gone—not a trace to be seen.

It pissed him off infinitely. 

How was it fair that Barnes looked so good when Steve looked so awful? He wasn’t the who’d been condemned to bed rest for a whole week.

“Steve,” Barnes called out as soon as he saw him by the door.

At that moment, the director got up from her chair to give the camera crew instructions. “Up in ten,” she said, turning to the actors.

Steve brushed past Bucky and went to find Sam, who should have arrived before him. He didn’t want to admit that it was an excuse to not have to speak to Barnes—to not have to look him in the eye.

Refusing to go on ignored, the brunet grabbed Steve’s bicep, effectively stopping him in his tracks. 

“Sorry, not now,” Steve said, pulling his arm away roughly.

This time, Barnes didn’t try to keep him from leaving.

*

“Everyone has gone home. We should leave, too.”

“What’s the rush?”

Grant bit the inside of his cheek and turned to face the smirking brunet whose hands had decided to burrow a home in his pockets.

“I’ve wanted to catch you alone for days. It hasn’t been easy. You’re a busy man.”

“So are you,” Grant retorted. “I was beginning to think you’d hired a personal assistant, or three. There seems to always be someone at your side. Laura, for one.”

Jimmy scrutinized him for a while as though trying to siphon meaning from something in his face and mannerisms. “She’s only a colleague,” he explained, and Grant became angry at how the words comforted him in spite of the facade he had decided to wear. 

“I didn’t ask.”

“You didn’t have to, it’s written all over your face. You think you’re so clever—that you can hide behind that mask of yours—but I may know you better than you know yourself. You _want_ this. You’re just too chicken to take it.” He motioned around the empty conference room. “No one’s stopping you.”

Grant looked into Jimmy’s eyes, waiting for something in them to crack—to betray his true feelings— but when nothing came, a balloon of something light and warm expanded in his chest. He took a step forward, measuring the distance between their bodies, desiring to make it obsolete—everything from the expectations that weighed heavily on both their shoulders, to the particles of air that floated mischievously between them, humming with electric anticipation. 

“You sure you don’t want to take that back?”

“Positive.”

All embarrassment gone, Grant pulled Jimmy towards him by the shoulders. It was slow and calculated, as all things between them seemed to be.

“This is your last chance,” he murmured, their noses brushing. 

Jimmy’s answer was to push forward and press his lips against Grant’s in a firm but searing kiss.

Steve flinched, forgetting to move his lips. _I’m Grant. I’m Grant. I’m Grant_ , he chanted, over and over again until the name, the story, the man’s very essence seeped from his pores. He closed his eyes and imagined he was kissing someone else, but when he couldn’t picture anyone in particular, the faceless image of his lover morphed into the crisp white of a pillow. Yes, Steve’s inability to turn the passion on was pathetic on pre-pubescent levels. 

Sensing his predicament, Barnes pulled away prematurely, and the director called for a cut.

“Steve, are you alright? Do you need a break?” she said.

Steve flushed from embarrassment. What kind of Hollywood legend was he to need a break between kissing scenes? It was a kiss, for goodness’ sakes, not a sex scene. 

Steve felt disappointed with his performance. This was supposed to have been a passionate moment between two people long wanting to consummate their lust. There should’ve been sparks, flames, fireworks— anything more sizzling than whatever it was he had delivered.

He should have taken Sharon’s advice to heart from the beginning, he realized. For this to work, he would need to find intimacy between them, not just as Grant and Jimmy, but as Steve and James. 

“We could practice before we start again,” Barnes suggested to him when they were at the water station. Steve, who’d desperately needed a drink, nearly spit his water out.

“I—”

“Look,” Barnes said, mock annoyance twinkling in his eyes. “We’re going to have to do it for the cameras eventually, so you choose. We can either make fools of ourselves back here in the dark or out there in front of all those crew members _and_ the director. It’s up to you.”

Steve swallowed. He had a point.

“Right now?” he said, licking his lips.

Barnes looked at him incredulously. “Yes, right now.”

Steve found himself nodding. This was it. The first trial to see if there was anything between them worth exploring.

_No pressure,_ he thought.

“Alright, but not here.”

Before Barnes could say anything, Steve was already going up to the director to ask for another fifteen minutes. She looked between Steve and Barnes suspiciously before finally waving them off. 

“ _Only_ fifteen. We don’t have all day.”

Steve thanked her and whisked Barnes away to one of the nearest dressing rooms. 

He closed the door behind them and turned the lock so nobody could interrupt them. Sam, especially, who he knew had made it his life's mission to keep Steve out of trouble.

Barnes’ eyes swept the room before he walked over to lean against the protruding edge of the vanity.

“How should we start this?” Steve said, fiddling with the rings on his left hand. He didn’t usually wear them, they were part of the character, but he was nervous, and his hands needed something to do other than hang limply at his sides.

“I think we should just go for it,” Barnes said with a shrug. 

Steve was startled by his nonchalance, and he hesitated.

With a sigh, Barnes crooked a finger at him and bade him closer. “I don’t bite,” he said, then hopped to sit up on the counter.

Steve reluctantly walked over to him, and Barnes spread his thighs in invitation, which made Steve’s body temperature spike.

He was given an impatient look, and Steve inched closer until the brunet had practically wrapped his legs around him.

“It’s better if you don’t overthink it,” Barnes said, eyes dropping to Steve’s mouth. 

For the first time, Steve could sense a bit of reluctance in him as well, and it made him all the more nervous. Where did his unremitting confidence go? It had actually comforted him to think that Barnes saw this arrangement as nothing more than a work-related event. An act of little to no consequence. But if he was also nervous, what did it mean? Was he afraid something undesirable might come from all this, or that _nothing_ would?

Steve decided he wasn’t going to wait to find out; he shot forward and took Barnes’ lips between his teeth.

_Woah,_ he thought, surprising himself with such an audacious move.

Wanting to turn down the fire, he let go of the soft flesh of the other man’s lips and pressed their mouths flush. Barnes went with it, pouring his own enthusiasm into the kiss as if it had been there all along, hibernating. 

Steve’s eyelids slid down, not quite closing all the way. He wanted to keep his head level to not forget that the person he was kissing was none other than James Barnes. Not a lover. Not even a regular co-star. This was the man who’d swept his ex off her feet and who, with his irritating stoicism, had been a thorn in his side from the moment they met. 

He was someone Steve should have nothing but enmity for—whom he should feel neutral towards, at best—but he couldn’t deny the flurry in his stomach that occurred when they were this close. When Barnes’ legs tightened around him, and his hands trailed up his back, clutching at the stiff fabric of his suit. 

Throwing all caution to the wind, Steve slipped his tongue into Barnes’ mouth, who let out a pleasured sigh against his lips.

They kissed unhurriedly, pushing and pulling, giving and taking, taking, and taking some more, but with an earnestness that Steve never knew he was capable of.

He faintly remembered having wanted to bring this man down to his knees, to see him beneath him, metaphorically, and submissive. He just never imagined it would be like this: languorous and passionate. Like they might even go farther if they weren’t on the job. Perhaps Barnes would even willingly let him take control and dominate.

Steve’s hand went around the back of the brunet’s head, fingers tangling into the medium-length locks. When Barnes’ hand went down lower, nearing a sensitive spot that sent shivers up Steve’s spine when touched, Steve pushed against his chest, hard, and threw himself back.

Clumsily, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and shot Barnes an accusatory glare. 

The brunet’s hair was messed up, his eyes glassy, and his lips a bright red. He looked an absolute mess—a wreck— and it brought Steve some satisfaction to know that it’d been him who made him that way.

Then he felt empty and cold, like all his heat had been absorbed by Barnes through contact. He wanted it back.

Wordlessly, both men threw themselves at each other again. Their lips moved roughly, without tenderness. Without care.

Steve wasn’t ashamed when he let out a breathy moan. On the contrary, the raw and carnal desire bubbling inside turned him on; he set free his inhibitions. Let his body accept the other man’s ministrations.

Meanwhile, Barnes seemed to make it his mission to draw out more breathy gasps from him—a feat which he easily accomplished.

Steve was so drunk on Barnes’ lips that he doubted anything could tear them apart.

That is until a knock came at the door.

“Steve? Is everything alright in there?”

It was Sam. 

Steve tried to pull back, but James didn’t let up.

He turned his head to detach himself from the poisonous lips. “We should go,” he said, and the words rang like an echo in his head, calling back a memory from earlier.

Barnes only took him by the waist and pressed kisses to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, and along his jaw. 

Steve shuddered. “I’m serious.” 

The brunet connected their lips, and despite his flash of reason, Steve leaned forward again.

Who was he kidding? He wanted this.

He _wanted_ this.

But he knew he couldn’t have it, not when there was—

“What the fuck, Barnes?” Steve said, using all his force to knock Barnes back into the edge of the vanity. 

The brunet groaned, and Steve stared with wide eyes as he realized what he’d done. 

“I—I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

Barnes shook his head. “I think I’m good. That might bruise later, though.”

Steve flinched. He hadn’t meant to—

“You can try to make it better, though,” Barnes said, smirking, “If you feel that badly about it.”

A flame sparked in Steve’s gut. Oh, there was nothing he wanted more than to kiss him again. He shook the feeling away immediately. _No._

“Why would you let me kiss you like that? You’re Peggy’s boyfriend!”

Barnes’ eyebrows drew together as though he’d suddenly lost all ability to understand English.

“She didn’t explain it to you...” he said, finally. A question hung silently in the air.

“Explain what?”

Barnes straightened and took two steps toward him. Steve shuffled back. 

“I thought she might’ve said something when you came to my house, but I guess not.”

“Said _what_?”

“I can’t tell you. All I _can_ say is that I made Peggy a promise I intend to keep.”

“James fucking Barnes, what is going on?”

“We should get back to work,” Barnes said, patting Steve’s shoulder as he slid past him. “We’ve been in here a while.”

When he reached the door, he looked over his shoulders and smiled tauntingly. “Think you’ve gotten enough practice to pull off that scene now?”

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

 

“You think you can just leave without saying goodbye?” Barnes called after him as Steve waited for Sam to bring around the car. The tone he used was friendly enough, but it was like the raking of nails on a chalkboard for all Steve was concerned. 

_What’s he doing here?_

“Hey,” Barnes said, his grin falling off his face once he caught Steve’s sour expression.” I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to be a jackass, I just thought we were getting along now. What’s a little friendly banter between friends, right?”

Steve stuffed his hands in his pockets and glowered.

_Friends?_ This Barnes guy was more devious than he thought. That, or just plain naive. “Is that all?”

“No,” Barnes amended. He rubbed the back of his neck, nervously. “I also wanted to tell you that you nailed it back there.”

Steve bristled.

“I know, I know, I have no leg to stand on compared to you—you’ve been at this much longer than I have—but I know kissing other men isn’t in your comfort zone. Though I gotta say, you could’ve totally fooled me,” he said, offering Steve an awkward smile.

A shiver crawled down Steve’s spine. “Kissing is kissing,” he said, sweeping the thought to some forgotten corner of his mind. “I’ve got plenty of experience in the department.”

He made sure the accusative edge in his voice came across purely intentional. 

Barnes backtracked. “No I mean—I…”

_The stutter is a nice touch_ , Steve admitted. _His acting is almost believable._

“I was wondering,” the brunet continued. “If you wanted to get together with Peggy and me tomorrow.”

_But, I suppose he’s a little cute….wait, what?_

“Excuse me?”

Barnes seemed to do a double-take of his own. Uncertainty flashed on his face. 

“You clearly have questions, and I figure it’s probably best we answer them sooner rather than later.”

_We?_

“I gave Peggy a call during break to make sure she was on board, and she agrees that you’ve been kept in the dark too long.”

Steve balked at him. All this time he’d thought he was paranoid for suspecting the worst, but it turns out Peggy and Barnes _had_ been keeping things from him. 

“So are you free?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. He wanted to know the truth, it had consumed him more than anything else, but he felt like a mouse falling for the cheese trap. He wanted Barnes to feel like he had to work for his interest, not that it was a given. “I’ll have to think about it.”

The shine in Barnes’ eyes dimmed. “I was hoping you’d say yes.”

“Were you.” It wasn’t a question. 

Before Barnes could retort, Sam pulled up in his Sedan and rolled down the glass on the passenger’s side. 

“Hey man, ready to go?”

Steve bent over to meet Sam’s eyes through the opened window. “Yeah, gimme a sec.”

He turned back to Barnes. “Give me your number.”

Without so much as a flinch, Barnes reached into his wallet and pulled out a business card. Steve almost burst out laughing. He’d almost forgotten how fresh James Barnes was. A fond smile tickled the corners of his lips.

“Leftovers?”

Barnes shrugged, nonchalant. “Had to get my name out somehow.”

Steve nodded. He remembered being twenty-two and in Barnes’ shoes. Remembered having had to break into private parties to hand out business cards to as many unsuspecting agents as possible. Back in the day, it was one of many tactics budding actors had employed to gain a foothold in the industry, and it made him a little nostalgic to know that not much had changed in ten years.

“I’ll text you my answer,” he said as he opened the car door and slid into his seat.

“Preferably by tomorrow morning,” Barnes added, raising his voice as the car started to drive off. “So Peggy knows what time to come over.”

Steve was glad that Barnes couldn’t see his face anymore or he would’ve beheld his surprise. He’d been under the impression that he and Peggy were co-habitating already. When he’d unexpectedly shown up at Barnes’ place, he’d assumed she only left the house because she didn’t want to be there while Steve was. A courtesy, if you will. He never imagined that she might be going home.

“Sure,” he responded to the air, a tremor cracking his voice, but they were already at the gates, and Barnes couldn’t hear it.

*

After getting home and hopping into the shower, Steve got ready for bed. He’d grown accustomed to early shoots, which meant he was usually too tired to function by 9pm. 

He peeled back the covers and slipped into the silky confines. Before sleeping, Steve liked to keep the light on for a few minutes while he pondered about his day and considered if there was anything he’d forgotten to do. Really, it was a good excuse as any to look back and point out what he could have done better or differently, but his therapist had told him to not think about it that way. 

_“Don’t beat yourself up over every little thing, Steve,”_ she would tell him if she were here.

It was a little hard to do when the whole world was watching your every move, and every misstep felt like an utter failure. Apart from his blunder with Barnes during the shoot, not much else had gone wrong. In fact, in the scrapbook of Steve’s life, today could be considered a relatively good day.

When he was just about content that he hadn’t missed anything else, his phone vibrated with an automated alert from his service provider, and Steve grumbled.

“Shit.”

He’d almost forgotten to send Barnes his response. It was a good thing he’d already saved Barnes’ number during the car ride home or else he’d have to get out of bed and find his pants. Steve leaned over to pick up his phone from the nightstand and opened messages to start a new chat. 

There was a flutter in his chest as he looked at the new contact.

Okay, he admitted it. Getting Barnes’ number had put him in a relatively good mood. He hadn’t even needed to extort Natasha for it this time, what with Barnes handing it over of his own volition.

For the first time, it felt like the other man had willingly given him a piece of himself over: a piece of the puzzle that had enthralled Steve for months.

_I can be there at noon_ , he typed, struggling to keep a goofy smile at bay.

Three little dots immediately appeared on his screen to indicate that Barnes was typing.

_Sounds good._ Smiley face.

Steve couldn’t suppress a slight chortle. 

He sent back an upside down smiley face. _Make of that what you will_ , he thought deviously, but the longer he stared at the emoji, the more ridiculous he felt. What was he? A lovesick schoolboy?

Almost immediately, Barnes answered with three question marks.

Steve rolled on his side, tossed the phone on the space beside him, and released a deep breath.

_What am I doing?_

He reached to turn off the lamp on the nightstand.

If the brunet was expecting an explanation, he wasn’t going to get one.

Steve covered his head with the comforter, and closed his eyes.

*

He sat in the chair in front of Peggy and Barnes. Since he’d been invited inside, Steve’s eyes hadn’t left her face—hadn’t stopped trying to gauge her mood. Whatever the nature of their secret was, Peggy’s composure would say a lot, and Steve wanted to know the category of the storm that was coming. If there was anything he hated almost as much as being lied to, it was being thrust into unknown territory and without a weather forecast.

His gaze flitted between Barnes and Peggy.

Peggy was sitting up straight at the edge of the sofa, hands folded neatly in her lap. Okay. That was typical of her, no biggie, but her feet were planted flat on the floor, and usually, there was a bit more grace in the way she presented herself—one ankle tucked beneath the other. Her eyes were inscrutable, seeming to look through him instead of _at_ him. 

Barnes, on the other hand, was a lot more casual, leaning all the way back in his seat with one arm propped on the armrest. There was a glimmer in his eyes—like he was _enjoying_ himself.

Steve’s lips threatened to turn down at the corners. 

Understanding body language was one of the things he learned in acting school. It’d come in handy more times than he could count, but he wasn’t infallible, and Steve wasn’t sure he was correctly picking up the vibes in the room; he was getting too many mixed signals.

“Are we going to stare at each other all afternoon, or is there something you wanted to tell me?” Steve said, rubbing a thumb against the hot mug of tea he’d been nursing for five minutes.

Peggy’s shoulders slackened. Her eyes darted to Barnes, who cleared his throat, scooted forward, and clasped his hands together. This was a posture Steve was all too familiar with— having Nick Fury as his boss—but it wasn’t quite as intimidating when Barnes did it. 

“We haven’t exactly been honest about the nature of our relationship,” Barnes said, tentative. He waited a moment for the words to register before continuing. “The paps caught us out on the town one evening, and rumors about an alleged affair started spiraling from there. Who knew a little rendezvous between friends would turn into the tabloids’ hottest new topic.”

Steve’s eyebrows pinched together. He remembered the morning that the news broke out. Sam had tried to hide the magazines, but Steve had an appointment at the optometrist, and imagine his surprise when he saw the cover of the newest issue of Entertainment Weekly on the coffee table in the waiting room.

“What he’s trying to say,” Peggy said, dissatisfied with his explanation, “is that we’re not actually dating. We’re just making everyone think that we are.”

Suddenly, the world didn’t make sense to Steve anymore. _Fake dating?_

He didn’t want to believe it, but hadn’t he been the one who tried to get tips on faking love from Sharon? He had no room to judge.

“Why?” His voice cracked.

Peggy sighed. “Because all the media seemed to care about was reporting on how “distraught” I was after ending things with you— _Mr. Hollywood_. My work wasn’t getting the attention it deserved.”

She smoothed a hand the length of her skirt.

“The truth is, I have a new clothing line coming out soon,” she said, “and I desperately needed the media to get over our failed relationship. I saw an opportunity and took it. It was a mutually beneficial agreement, I can assure you.”

Steve nodded slowly. He thought he was beginning to understand, but it didn’t stop bothering him that he’d been kept out of the loop for this long, even though he knew he had no right to demand explanations from either of them and especially not from Peggy. But they’d been friends first. Perhaps all this time he’d been hoping that would be the link that brought them back together. Now he saw that wasn’t the case. Some relationships simply crashed and burned, and it didn’t matter that the start had been beautiful. It was about time Steve accepted this fact and moved on.

“Wait,” Steve said, his mind reeling. “What did Barnes get out of it? Besides the obvious, I mean.” He gave Peggy a knowing look. They both could probably count on one hand the number of people who would abhor dating _the_ Peggy Carter.

Peggy leaned back into her seat slowly, as though wanting to sink into the cushions and become one with the upholstery.

“Well, you see, I’m…” Barnes started to say.

Steve glanced over to Peggy, who was examining her nails with sudden interest.

“I’m kind of…really…. _gay_.”

“WHAT?” Steve shot up from his seat, spilling some tea on his shirt in the process.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Peggy murmured, a coy smile on her red lips.

Barnes looked abashed. 

_As he should be_.

“Why would you agree to do a movie with me if you were gay? Weren’t you afraid I’d…I don’t know, make things difficult for you?”

“I was,” Barnes clarified, insistent. A grimace seized his face. “I was going to turn the offer down, but Peggy convinced me to do it. She sort of vouched for you.”

Steve gawked at Peggy, seeing her in a new light. “You did?”

Peggy’s ears went pink. “He’s making it sound like I defended your honor. It wasn’t like that at all. I just didn’t want him to pass up a good opportunity on the baseless grounds that you were a homophobe. As difficult as it is to even look at you, I know all your flaws, and I’m happy to say that this isn’t one of them. You can be a little dense and old-school, but you’re also incredibly empathetic. I saw the interview. I know the hosts were trying to draw from you anything that would incite public outrage. Your only mistake was not catching onto their little game on time.”

“I—don’t know what to say.”

“It’s better you don’t say anything. Wouldn’t want to ruin the moment,” she snapped, but it wasn’t from anger so much as from irritation. “You seem to have a knack for it.”

Barnes cleared his throat. “So, anyway, I’d really appreciate it if you kept my secret, Steve.”

Steve turned to the brunet. He’d almost forgotten he was there. 

“I want to come out one day, but it’s going to be on my own terms. The moment has to be right.”

Steve found himself nodding. Even though the industry had gotten better about not vilifying LGBTQ celebs, there was no denying that it still impacted careers. Barnes was just getting big—he had a lot more to prove. If he came out now, it’d only detract attention from the good work he was doing.

“I won’t say a word,” he promised, and he meant it wholeheartedly. If anyone knew first-hand how the press ruined people, it was him. He didn’t wish his bad luck upon any decent person, and as much as it cost him to admit it, Barnes was a good guy, albeit a little mysterious.

Barnes smiled warmly at him, appreciation oozing from his gaze. 

Steve still had a lot of questions, but he’d save them for another time.

“Can I have a moment alone with Steve, James?” Peggy said.

Barnes hesitated for only a second. “I’ll be upstairs,” he said before walking out of the room.

Peggy reached for the mug she’d set down in front of her and took a sip of her lukewarm tea. She didn’t say anything for a prolonged beat.  
Steve’s hands started to feel clammy. Being alone with Peggy put him on edge. 

“How are things going with the movie?”

_Oh_. He hadn’t anticipated this turn.

Steve swallowed. “Fine. Why?”

“You were never one to beat around the bush,” Peggy muttered under her breath.

She set her mug down again. “Let me rephrase the question. How are things with James? Have you been getting on?”

Steve did a double-take. He sensed more was loaded into the question than what appeared to be on the surface.

“It was a rocky start, but I think we’re in a good place now,” he found himself saying despite his better judgment. Was this what he truly felt, or did he just say what he knew Peggy wanted to hear?

“I’m glad,” she said, cracking a smile, but there was something behind the mask—something swirling in her shrouded eyes.

“Peggy,” Steve began. If she wasn’t going to tell him herself, he’d have to press the issue further. “You wanted Barnes and me to get along. You even encouraged him to do the movie. I know you said you did it for him, but that isn’t the whole truth. Is it?” 

Peggy averted her gaze.

“Peggy.”

“We were together a long time,” she said quietly, now looking him directly in the eye. “I know you. I know what you’re like when you’re in a good place, and when you’re going through it—when you’re lonely. James, well …he’s a lot like you. You both keep your feelings bottled up, and it’s not because you’re cold people, but you do tend to isolate yourselves—say and do things that drive away the people who care about you.”

“So what? You wanted us to keep each other company?”

“I wanted you to be friends,” she said matter-of-factly. “I had hoped that if anything were to be gained from my fake relationship with James, it’d be that you two would cross paths. I never imagined it’d be so easy, though. When he called me up and told me about the role, I was ecstatic. I couldn’t wait for you to meet.”

“I don’t understand,” Steve said, taking a mental step back. “I thought you were mad at me.”

Peggy rolled her eyes. 

Steve tried to find a crack in her poker face. Something conclusive he could latch onto that would help him find the answers he sought. When she looked away again, her fingers curling together and teeth worrying her bottom lip, it came to him—the grand epiphany.

“You wanted him and I to—” He pointed to his own chest, letting the words hang in the silence, but it was fine; he didn’t need to hear her reply.

“You were trying to set us up!” he shouted, rising from his seat. “As…a couple?”

“Shush,” Peggy said urgently. “James will hear.”

“So what? He was in on it the whole time, wasn’t he?”

Peggy shook her head, frantic. Her eyes were as big as saucers. “No, James knows nothing, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“This doesn’t make any sense, Peg.”

“It doesn’t need to,” she retorted. “It just needs to _work_.”

“Why? Why do you care so much?”

Peggy sighed, her eyes glassy with moisture. She rose from her seat and went to gaze out the window. 

Steve was at a loss for words. He’d rarely seen her get this sentimental. Sure she got angry, and sure, she let stress get the best of her, but Peggy was a businesswoman by nature. Her resilience rivaled that of a soldier’s. Emotion was precious to her— she saved it, guarded it, even _savored_ it, so that when it poured out like water from a broken dam, you knew it _meant_ something coming from her. 

Her duality—her ability to be stern one moment and vulnerable the next— was one of the first things that had drawn Steve to her. Few people like her were beautiful not only on the outside but on the inside as well. 

Steve felt the months of regret coagulate and form a spear that went right through his chest. He should have known to appreciate her better when he had her.

“I only want to see two people I care about find happiness in one another,” she said. Peggy looked at Steve over her shoulder and smiled sadly. “Surely you can’t begrudge me that.”

Steve took a sip from his mug, set it back on the table, and clapped his hands on his knees

How could he refuse her this? If Peggy felt that he and Barnes made a good match, and all she was asking was for him to give it a try, he owed it to her. At the very least, this much.

“Alright, what do you want me to do?”

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

“Grant, you can’t keep evading this thing between us.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jimmy slammed a palm against the wall, rattling a hanging frame nearby. “There you go again.”

Grant gawked at the seething brunet, having never seen him lose his cool like that. Buchanan was a serious, well-put-together man. Or at least that’s what he’d tried to make everyone believe for as long as Grant could remember. It’d been many years since they went to university together, and though so much in him had changed, his mien of superiority had remained a constant fixture.

“M—maybe if I knew what you wanted to hear, I wouldn’t have to tip-toe every line around you,” Grant replied, his voice pitched a little higher than usual. 

Jimmy glared at him as he smoothed down his sleeve and slicked back his hair with both hands. It was a methodical display meant to punctuate his collecting calm.

“This is what I mean,” Grant said. “You ask me to spill my deepest and darkest desires, but you won’t divulge your own. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?”

Slowly, the fire in Jimmy’s eyes started to dim. “You’re right.”

A collective exhalation seemed to pass between them.

“I’ve never been one to wait in the wings for the things I covet to fall into my lap. I take what I want when I want it,” Jimmy said. 

He crossed the office to where Grant was standing and pulled him closer by the waist. 

Grant let out a small gasp, and his hands went immediately to the man’s chest, keeping him as distanced as possible. He hadn’t expected Buchanan to act so boldly. Not here, in the office where his secretary could walk in and see them so tightly pressed together.

“You know what’s next,” the brunet said, eyes raking over every freckle on Grant’s face. “I presume there aren’t any objections.”

Grant leaned in closer, words failing him. His hands slid to grip the other man’s strong arms, and he pressed against his chest. He knew he didn’t have to tell Buchanan what he wanted, his actions would speak for themselves, but he _wanted_ to say it. Out loud. To clear all the lingering doubts that may be in the air.

“Kiss me.”

Buchanan’s soft smile shattered the last of Grant’s reservations.

Without further ado, the other man leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Grant’s. The kiss was soft, warm, and slow, and the blond man melted against it.

Steve was relieved that he’d found it easier to do this part now. He and Barnes had gotten plenty of time to practice in the weeks since he’d gone to Peggy’s house and got to speak to her alone. It was as though a dam had been broken, letting water flow uninterrupted from the stream of reason. This had allowed him to push aside his rancor and embrace his acting partner as not just a costar, but as a potential friend and faux lover.

But now that he’d gotten into the flow of things, he found his mind routinely wandering off to other places. Steve couldn’t help but notice things about the way Barnes’ lips moved, how he tasted. Kissing Barnes wasn’t like kissing Peggy. Where Peggy was soft and lovely, Barnes was hard and abrasive. There were very few round edges on the guy. It took Steve a little while to get accustomed to the difference, but when it happened, all the pieces naturally fell together. Steve even began to wonder if he’d ever be able to go back to the way things were before.

_It’s just part of the job_ , he had to keep reminding himself. _You’ve only just learned to tolerate him. It’s not like you’re in love or anything…_

Steve sighed, recognizing the fallacy of the thought. The truth was, he had come to enjoy Barnes’ presence. He would even go as far as to say he looked forward to spending time with him, and when they were acting a scene together, the thrill he got was even greater. Since the first time they exchanged lines, Steve had noted that Barnes was kind of brilliant; he had a knack for stringing Steve along like he was little more than a wooden marionette. No other actor had been able to play him like that: anticipate his reactions, and what’s more, draw them out of him against his own cognizance. Was it the welcome challenge—the invigorating repartee between them—that had softened him up to the other actor? Or was it that he actually enjoyed going out for drinks with him? Perhaps he’d never been truly closed off, and speaking with Peggy those many weeks ago was what had driven the final nail in the coffin of his pride.

He didn’t really care.

All he knew was that he didn’t want this winning streak to end. 

Grant brought his hand to Jimmy’s neck, pulling him near as was humanly possible. The pressure of his full lips against his felt so nice that he wanted to meld himself with the other man—to swallow him whole.

Steve had never wanted to keep kissing anyone this badly, and the thought electrified him as well as filled him with terror. The addicting, rollercoaster-conquering kind of fear. 

He was so enraptured by the kiss that he didn’t hear the director’s call for a cut. 

Barnes’ senses came delayed as well. Still holding Steve in place, he pulled back just enough so that oxygen could pass between them.

“Steve,” he mumbled, his breath warm on Steve’s mouth.

Hearing his name broke the spell—the illusion of the scene— and Steve stumbled backward.

He wasn’t Grant, he was Steve, and Steve was just a player in this made-up game: a hollow vessel for a myriad of phantom lives like Grant’s.

His gut churned to think that one day he’d have to say goodbye to Grant and Jimmy. One day, he and Barnes would go down different paths.

“That was great!” The director shouted. “Absolutely breathtaking! The chemistry was unreal.”

_No,_ Steve concurred. _Very little about this charade is real._

Concern contorted Barnes’ features then; his lips pressed tightly together. 

Without saying a thing, he took Steve by the arm and pulled him toward the dark, unused corner of the set. The director was currently engaged in a very animated conversation with the cameraman about the next scene, and wouldn’t notice they’d stepped aside for a moment.

“Steve, there’s something I’ve wanted to tell you.”

The blond’s heart leaped in his chest.

“I don’t know what Peggy said to you when you were alone that day, but I’ve felt that things have been different between us since you two spoke. I don’t know how to—I _think_ I—” He took a deep breath. “I just want you to know that the way I feel about you hasn’t changed.” 

And just like that, Steve’s heart sank. 

“I like you,” Barnes clarified upon seeing Steve’s crestfallen expression. “Against all odds—despite people trying to poison me against you and the mere idea of working together— I _like_ you. I—I’m only telling you this because I think you feel the same.”

“W-what?”

“The kiss—I could feel it meant something to you, too.”

“How can you be so sure?” Steve said, wetting his lips nervously. He could feel the walls he’d put up begin to crack against the battering ram that was Barnes’ stare.

Barnes contemplated the question for only a moment. Then, in a low, tender voice, he said: “Because you’re not as good of an actor as you think.”

Silence pierced their dark corner, and the words, too, nailed deeply inside Steve’s chest.

Barnes looked so earnest— so completely unabashed by his confession and the jibe that came with it that Steve couldn’t contain himself any longer.

He started to laugh, his deep voice echoing loudly to the farthest reaches of the room. People turned to stare.

Not once in his decade-long career had anyone ever told him he was bad at his job. Not to his face, anyway. He’d even come to think no one would ever have the guts, come whatever scandal or controversy that may, and he had a couple to his name already.

Barnes let him have a moment to get the unadulterated disbelief out of his system. He shuffled his weight from one leg to the other, seemingly unsure what to do with himself.

Steve finally took pity on him, brushed a tear out of his eye, and looked at Barnes directly. 

“Had you told me this weeks ago, I would’ve thought you were trying to start a fight.”

“And now?” 

Steve found the crinkle between the brunet’s brows endearing. He pressed an index finger between those curious eyes to smoothen it out.

“Now…” he said, running his finger down the side of Barnes’ jaw. “Now I _know_ you wanna start something.”

Barnes—James—chuckled. “Yes. Yes, I do.” 

“If I told you I wanted that, too, would you believe me?”

Barnes feigned deep contemplation. “I’m more of an action man, really.”

Steve couldn’t help the smile that sprouted on his lips. “Then I guess I’ll have to show you. After the shoot.”

“Yes,” James agreed. “I suppose you should.”

*

Steve pushed James backward, and the back of the brunet’s knees hit the bed, causing him to topple on top of the neatly made sheets. They wouldn’t be neat for much longer if Steve had anything to say about it.

“Damn you and your damned penchant for three-piece suits,” Steve grumbled, struggling to undo the other man’s tie. 

James smirked up at him, his gray eyes twinkling in the light of the moon.

“Not all of us like to walk around in the same tight shirts and jeans,” he answered, eyeing Steve from top to bottom. “Though, I can’t say it’s an eyesore. It’s a good look for you. Sexy. A little hobo-ish, but sexy.”

Steve chortled. “My shoes alone are worth more than your entire closet. And anyway, you’re getting in my pants, aren’t you? What does that say about _you?_.”

James threw his head back and laughed.

The first thing to succumb to the chilly night’s air was James’ torso—goosebumps dotted the pale skin where the blond trailed his feather-light fingers. Then Steve’s shirt came off, and then both of their pants, and with a little maneuvering, they were back on each other. Lips on lips. Mouth on skin. Appendages touching everywhere they could possibly reach.

James’ mischievous hand trailed down Steve’s spine. “You’ve never done this part before, have you?”

Steve detached his lips from the man’s Adam’s apple and tilted his head to look pointedly at the brunet. His answer went without saying.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”  
Steve wanted to reproach him that—tell him he was a big boy and could handle it. But then he remembered he _really_ hadn’t done this before. Would it hurt? Steve’s pain tolerance was pretty high, but where did penetration land in the spectrum of things? On second thought, it was probably better to take it slow. 

James flipped them around, and Steve’s back hit the bed. He brought the blond man’s legs up so that his feet were planted firmly on the mattress on either side of his James’ knees.

Steve looked up at him, took in the disheveled brown locks and the burning eyes—a lusty gaze, just for him. He felt smoldered—like he could end up a heap of ash by the end of the night from just this. 

Screw caution, he thought. This was the time to set his inhibitions free—to embrace the moment, relish in it while they could. If there was anything experience had taught Steve, especially as an entertainer, it was that no one knew what promises tomorrow held. He and the other man could wake up the next morning and decide they’d never do this again. That it had all been a mistake. 

“You’re thinking,” James said, uncapping a bottle of slick that Steve hadn’t even noticed he’d grabbed. “Look at me. Focus on my hands. Don’t go wandering off inside that pretty head of yours.”

Steve swallowed, feeling the compliment all the way down to his toes.

“Maybe I wouldn’t if you’d hurry it up a bit,” he said, trying to pay him back with the same coin.

James looked down at him, a challenge simmering in his gaze. “Oh, is that how you want it?”

Steve swallowed. Now he was in for it.

*

Steve was splayed across James’ chest, the light of dawn falling on the contours of the brunet’s face. He marveled at the way the dark lashes fanned his cheekbones––he’d never noticed how long they were before.

He trailed a finger across his collarbones, making sure to stop at each freckle as though he were playing connect-the-dots.

His hand must have been cold, or the touch too ticklish, because James murmured something in a deep, gravelly voice, and then his eyes fluttered open. He was disoriented, eyes blinking languidly as though he couldn’t tell up from down. 

Steve drew in a ragged breath.

This was it. The moment of truth.

“Hey,” James said.

Steve was momentarily relieved to find that nothing in his voice sounded alarmed, or as he’d feared, upset.

“What time is it?”

Steve glanced over toward the nightstand. “Twenty after six.”

James groaned, draping his forearm across his face and over his eyes. “It’s the weekend. What did you wake up so early for?”

“You want the truth?” Steve said, laying his cheek against James’ chest. He sighed. “I wasn’t trying to wake you, I just….I wasn’t sure if you wanted me gone before you regained consciousness.”

“Consciousness?” James chuckled. “You make it sound like I wasn’t in my right mind last night. What did you think might happen? That I wouldn’t remember what we did, or that if I did, I might get angry?”

Steve shrugged halfheartedly. “Now that the topic has been breached, how _do_ you feel? Do you… have regrets?”

He tried his best to sound casual, but the insecurity rang clearly in his own ears.

“Nope.”

“Not a single one?”

Bated silence filled the air, and Steve’s body moved with the rise and fall of James’ chest. 

“Come ‘ere.”

Steve did as he was told and climbed up to nuzzle at the brunet’s neck.

James planted a kiss on the crown of his head. “We’re good, okay? If you’re worried about how things will be from now on, don’t be. I wanted this, and I know I’d very much like for it to happen again. What about you?”

Steve nodded. 

“See? No need to worry. In fact, to erase any lingering doubts, why don’t you spend the day with me? We can have breakfast, go out for a walk, get to know each other better. Whatever you want.”

Steve smiled. The idea definitely seemed appealing. 

“Or we could just stay in bed, “he said, a mischievous tinge in his voice.

James laughed. “Or we could do that.”

Steve settled deeper into James’ embrace, nosed the edge of his jaw and planted a kiss on his chin.

He felt like he could float in air. 

For the first time in forever, things finally looked like they might go his way.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

The movie premiere was a week away.

Steve sat on the sofa in James’ living room, a throw blanket draped over his legs and a kindle, courtesy of Peggy, in his lap.

Recently Peggy had tasked herself with the compilation of recommended readings for him: self-help books, books on healthy living, books on various social issues. He’d devoured them fairly quickly, what with shooting having wrapped up several months ago. Steve didn’t have much else going on at the moment and figured it was as good a time as any to educate himself on the things that mattered. He’d found that James’ home, besides being his favorite place to spend time with his boyfriend, was big and quiet—the ideal place for nestling down with his ebooks and a hot cup of coffee.

“What are you reading now?” James said, descending the stairs.

He was wearing sweats and had a towel rolled up around his bare shoulders. He’d just come out of the shower.

Steve scrolled up to the cover page and flashed the screen at him.

“LGBTQ Social Issues of the Last Century.” James’ eyebrows almost flew off his face. “What’s this all about?”

“Peggy,” Steve said, taking a sip from his mug. “She suspects the media will try to hound me with questions about the movie’s themes and, given the highly controversial nature of my previous slip up, convinced me it’d be a good idea to prepare myself for any curve-balls. Not only would it show respect for the source material, but ‘demonstrate my enviable capacity for character growth.’”

“Well, she’s not wrong.”

Steve shot him a glare. “I had a feeling you’d say that. You always take Peggy’s side.”

“Don’t get it twisted,” James said. “I’m on the side of reason, which is something you seem to lack. Though, between the two of us, I like you a lot better than I like her.”

That made Steve smiled devilishly. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell her you said that.”

James’ almost blasé expression crumbled. “Don’t you dare!”

“Relax,” Steve said, patting the spot beside him. “Well, between you and me, you’re the only one I like to get down on my knees for. How’s that for blackmail fodder?”

“Hmm. Sounds good, but I think I’d like a demonstration before we call it even,” James said, sidling up against him.

Steve smacked his thigh with the flat side of his device. “No. You just showered, and we have a fitting to get ready for.”

James rolled his eyes. “If this movie wasn’t so important for both of us, I never would’ve have made this appointment. I’d rather stay here and cuddle, and do all those naughty things you like.”

Steve grimaced. “Me? You’re the one with the authority kink. What was it you said to me last week? ‘Get on the floor. Hands behind your back?’ “

A faint rosy blush appeared on the brunet’s cheeks. “I was drunk, that doesn’t count.”

Steve shook his head in disbelief. “Didn’t you know that Guinness is the truth serum of the Irish.”

“Isn’t your ma Irish?”

“Yes, so I would know,” Steve said, waggling a finger at him. 

“Fine, fine.”

Steve smiled, content to have won that round. It wasn’t a particularly common occurrence.

He and James were always playing contrarian to each other. If either said something—anything mundane, even—the other would go out of his way to find a point to debate. As intense as their discussions often were, they never let them escalate to something toxic. If anything, getting a rise out of each other was what kept their relationship alive and burning, since neither was really the domestic, complacent type. On the contrary, they were ambitious men with an aversion for the quotidian, and both had enormous egos to boot. 

Unfortunately, his boyfriend had the annoying tendency to come out on top, though Steve made sure to balance the scales in other aspects of their life, particularly whilst unclothed.

Regarding their intimacy, Steve and James decided early on to forego the nice dinners and weekly walks in the park altogether. Instead, they commenced a _very_ romantic relationship wherein Steve would sometimes drop by unannounced in the evenings, fuck around all night, and sleep until noon the following day, only to not come around again for days on end. James supposedly found it thrilling—the unknown nature of things. Turned out he even made bets with Peggy to see how long Steve could go without pouncing on him from sheer lust. When he’d told Steve about that, the blond only laughed and said he and Sam had made a few bets of their own.

They were happy like this, letting the cards fall where they may. 

The only thing neither was willing to give up to chance was their public image, which both men had vested interest in protecting. Avoiding spending too much time together, even at home, was how they’d been able to elude the paps thus far. It sucked tremendously for both of them, but to maintain their little piece of paradise, it was what had to be done.

At the end of the day, what mattered was that they both wanted to be together, and if anyone trustworthy were to ask, Steve would confirm that James was indeed his boyfriend, and James would say the same about Steve. 

“What time is Sam getting here?”

Steve checked his watch. “Half an hour maybe.”

James nodded. “Wanna hear a secret while we wait?”

Steve looked away from the sentence he was reading to stare at the mass of messy brown hair that had come to rest on his shoulder. “What have you been keeping from me this time?” he said, teasing.

“The _truth_ truth?” James offered, peering up at him with a playful smile. “About when I _actually_ fell in love with you.”

Steve’s heart stuttered. They’d tossed around the ‘L’ word before, but it was always said lightly, in jest, like when Steve would do the dishes unprompted, and James would sidle up next to him on the couch and croon a ‘love you’ into his ear.

He cleared his throat. “Oh?”

“It was two years ago,” James said, voice dropping a few decibels. “At the premiere of your last movie, _Captain America_.”

“I didn’t know you went.”

“Yeah. I was…um...invited.”

“Peggy?” 

“Not exactly. As you know, I’m with Stark Talent Agency…”

Steve rolled his eyes. He’d met the infamous Tony Stark a few times— an older man who’d been born with a golden spoon in his mouth and never shut up about it. “How could I forget?”

“Hey, listen.” The brunet nudged him, annoyed at the interruption. “Tony and Peggy are friends—“

“Friendly acquaintances,” Steve corrected.

James glared at him. “Are you going to let me tell the story or not?’

“Sorry,” Steve mumbled. “Go on.”

“Well, he’d talked to her about possibly designing my next red carpet attire—something classy but bold, you know— but she couldn’t make time in her schedule. It was Tony’s great idea to send me to the premiere and have me bump into her there. He knew she’d be going as your date.”

“Huh,” Steve said, wondering if he had met James back then and just never realized it.

“My work wasn’t exactly acclaimed at the time,” the brunet explained, “and Tony knew Peggy to be especially selective with her celebrity partnerships.”

“So you thought a movie premiere would be the best place to introduce yourself? Sneak yourself inside her radar?”

“Not me. It was Tony’s idea, remember that.”

“Ah.”

Well, it made sense how James had come to be there, but how did Steve fit in all this? He wanted to know.

As though reading his mind, James said: “Peggy didn’t leave your side for a second that night.”

Steve quirked a brow.

“I kept waiting for you go take press photos or get caught in a web of interviews—heck, take a restroom break, even— just so I could sneak in a few minutes with her, but you were as attentive to her as you were to the flashing cameras and screaming fans. I might’ve spent more time monitoring you that night than I did her.”

James chuckled at the memory.

“I didn’t realize I was that irresistible,” Steve joked.

James turned his head to look up at Steve, a peaceful smile flourished on his face, and he tilted his head up for a slow, deep kiss.

“You have no idea,” he said when he pulled away.” But listen, the best part is coming.”

Steve pretended to zip his lips.

“That all happened before the movie started. They ushered us into the theater, and I got seated a few rows behind the main cast—Tony’s influence, I guess. Toward the end of the first act, I could swear I’d burned several holes through the back of your head. I was pissed. And that’s when I saw it—the transformation sequence.”

Steve grinned, knowing exactly what part of the movie he was referring to. “Oh, you mean the part where I emerge shirtless from a metal capsule, all glistening muscles on display? That sequence?”

“Steve, the whole theatre collectively gasped,” James said, trying to mitigate his embarrassment. “Your body was— _is_ —a work of art. I don’t think anyone walked out of there that night without harboring a small crush on you.”

“Sounds like you walked away with more than just that.” Steve waggled his eyebrows playfully.

“I had a dash to the restroom to hide the giant boner in my pants, ok?” He admitted. “I was in there for a good fifteen minutes. When I got out and tried to find Peggy, I saw you both get into a black car and drive off. I was angry and horny, and it was all your damned fault.”

Steve roared with laughter. “You’re so cute,” he said, in between intakes of air.

James buried his face in Steve’s shirt. “Shut up.”

“So what? When did you realize you’d fallen in love?”

“A few days later. I couldn’t get your dumb blue eyes out of my mind, your sexy chest—seriously, Steve, how are you even real?” He took a small breath. “Then I found myself looking up everything you’d ever been in. The more I saw, the more I confirmed you were exactly my type.”

Steve’s face fell. “Until that interview happened. Right?”

James looked at him, expression turning somber. “I won’t deny that it hurt a little to think that the guy I’d liked for almost two years might hate my very existence. I thought I’d gotten used to people feeling a certain way about people like me, but coming from the one I admired, it was soul-crushing.”

“I’m so sorry, James. I—“

“Don’t. It’s ok. I know now that you didn’t mean it. You’d be the world’s biggest hypocrite and bigot if you had, wouldn’t you?”

Steve leaned down to kiss him again, coiling his fingers around the brown locks of James’ hair. “I suppose I would.”

“I tried to get over you,” James said breathily. “I nearly did, too, before finally befriending Peggy.”

James averted his gaze. “Since I’m being honest, I may as well confess that I was relieved to know she’d been the one who left you, and not the other way around. I wanted to keep thinking the worst of you, and it was all too easy when the rest of the world thought the same way I did. So, you can imagine my utter surprise and indignation when Peggy, of all people, tried to convince me to take this movie on, and that she _vouched_ for your character.”

“Yeah, that took me by surprise, too.”

James nodded absentmindedly.

“I agreed to do it because it was a smart career move,” he said, gazing at Steve pointedly. _So don’t flatter yourself_ , is what the look meant. “But I’m not going to deny I was curious about you, too. I hadn’t officially met you then, and I wanted to see for myself how someone as kind and smart as Peggy could have ever come to love you.”

Steve reached for James’ hand and wove their fingers together, squeezed it reassuringly, as though they were both atop a cliff, preparing to leap into crystal clear waters.

“And now I completely understand her,” James said, bringing their interlocked hands to his mouth to press a kiss to Steve’s knuckles. “I think I understand better than anybody.”

*

The night of the premiere, all cameras were on Steve and James. The press and the paps that had snuck in with fake press IDs would not stop following them around, not even when they split off to do their own interviews. 

“Steve Rogers, what do you hope audiences will take away from this movie?”

“What hurdles did you have to overcome to pull off a character whose views contradict your own?”

“How was it working with James Barnes?”

Steve only smiled, letting the voices float over his head. He wouldn’t answer any questions unless he knew who was asking them. Nat had compiled for him a list of trustworthy news outlets as well as a list of those he should avoid. There was one in particular that Steve knew would try to skew his answers, no matter how carefully he crafted them, and it wasn’t his intention to get caught in their traps, especially not tonight.

Further down the carpet, he caught a glimpse of James, who had just as many cameras chasing after him, but whose security team was much more efficiently keeping them at bay. Stark’s company hired only the best, and as much as the guy got on Steve’s nerves, he thought maybe it wouldn’t be a terrible thing to be signed to his agency. Clearly, there were perks to be had that even he, as a successful actor, wasn’t privy to.

Just as he was about to meet up with James, a familiar logo caught his eye.

“Mr. Rogers,” said a slithery voice. 

Goosebumps broke out the back of his neck. 

“This is a question from Hydra Magazine. Mr. Rogers, as someone who expressly conveyed anti-gay sentiments this past Summer, how difficult was it to play a queer man on screen? Don’t you think it was a bit tactless of you to keep the role in the face of so much backlash?”

Steve bristled. His hands clenched at his sides, but when he remembered that there were dozens of cameras on him, he let them unfurl slowly, as though he’d been merely stretching them. He leaned in towards the microphone that had been shoved in his face, eyes dropping to the pap’s access pass. “Well, Brock, I think I’ll let my performance speak for itself.”

As he was about to walk away, the man—Brock—launched another question at him. “There are rumors that you and your lead costar were seen arguing on set several times. That you didn’t get along.”

Steve sighed, eyes drifting to James, who was looking back at him, concerned. 

He didn’t know what his boyfriend saw on his face, but it must have been grave for James to start apologizing to the woman interviewing him and make his way over.

Steve panicked for a second before remembering that he had an image to safeguard.

“Steve, they want to ask you a few questions over there,” James said, motioning to the crowd of reporters he’d slipped away from. His security team was doing its best to hold them back as the trampled velvet ropes no longer served their purpose.

“Mr. Barnes, how would you describe your working relationship with your costar? Did you experience any difficulties during the shoot?”

Steve could see that James was trying his best to not just take the man’s mic and throw it across the carpet. “Steve is a great actor and costar, and I was very fortunate to work with him.”

It was a diplomatic answer—a safe one. Steve couldn’t see how Brock or Hydra would be able to twist the words against James, and it showed in the man’s scowl. “Did you ever feel threatened by him on set?”

James’ publicist jumped in at that. “That will be enough questions for now,” she said, trying to usher James away, but the brunet planted his feet firm on the carpet, and looked Steve in the eye—a question twinkling in his gaze.

Steve swallowed. To others, it would not be clear what James was trying to communicate, but this was _them_. Steve and James. And in the short time they’d been together, Steve had come to realize the truth in Peggy’s words. He and James really were similar—so much that their minds had naturally synced together. There was only one thing the brunet could be asking him now, in this precise moment. Steve was so sure.

Wordlessly, he extended his hand for James to take, and when their fingers were curled around each other’s, they walked away. Together.

All the cameras were on them in an instant, like missiles locking in on a target.

Just before they disappeared inside the theatre and convened with the other actors, Steve tugged imperceptibly at James’ sleeve, no longer wanting to wait until after the premiere, like they had discussed, to reveal their story to the world. By the look on James’ face, it seemed they were in agreement.

James squared to face him and cradled Steve’s face in his hands in front of everyone: the press, the fans, the staff, and their colleagues. And there, for everyone to see, pulled Steve in and frenched the living daylights out of him. 

Steve’s hands went to James’ waist to hold him tightly—feeling the security of the touch. He didn’t dare think about what would come afterward—what new headlines would pop up in his google search feed the next morning. Not when everything about _this_ moment, and the passion and silent promises that filled it, felt so _right_.

For a second, Steve almost lamented not being able to turn back to see the look of utter devastation on Brock’s face, but he was so happily preoccupied that really, he didn’t even care.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to everyone who read this far. I hope the ending wasn't a big disappointment to you all. Truthfully, this story was never meant to be more than a one-shot, but it grew into something else along the way. 
> 
> I'll be back with something new at the end of the month!


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